A FALL OF BONES

Angie & Bernie Mystery #4

K.L. Kovar

Copyright © 2021 by K. L. Kovar. All rights reserved.

Kindle version released October 2021.

This work may not be reproduced or distributed without written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations, is entirely coincidental.

Cover art by Dione Moon.

For more work by K.L Kovar, please check her Amazon page or contact her at: AngieBernie22@gmail.com

DEDICATION

Nathanial C. E. Wooley

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

There are many people I should thank and appreciate for their support and encouragement. As always, the Bearlodge Writers group continues to provide amazing support and encouragement to me and to many other writers out here in the remote areas of northeast Wyoming. We Zoomed throughout the past year and continue to do so. Whatever it takes to continue to meet and talk about writing and books and our work. K. D. Gearhart, fellow writer and BLW member, always offers a sharp eye and points out the gaps in consistency, logic, and completeness of my first (and second, etc.) drafts. Thank you to all of you.

Jennifer Goode Stevens is an exemplary editor, who points out my lack of knowledge in areas where I do lack knowledge. An excellent editor to work with and whose advice I (almost) always took. Any remaining errors are clearly on me.

Dione Moon designed the wonderful cover art for the Angie and Bernie series. And listened to me talk about the books on and on, as I wrote and thought about what came next. A great talent and a good friend.

And, as always, my patient husband helped enormously, by not complaining about my hiding out in my office to write, bringing me tea and small snacks, and keeping our two unruly dogs at bay. Couldn’t have done this without you, Stu-Bob!

BOOKS IN THE ANGIE & BERNIE SERIES

A Dangerous Winter

The Spring Militia

The Dog Days of Summer

A Fall of Bones

PROLOGUE

July 10, 1923

Dear Diary,

I’m so excited today! The letter came offering me a teaching position at the Snow Prairie School in Wyoming! It sounds wonderful. I’d live with the Ferguson family. He’s the head of the school board, and the Fergusons have two children in the school. Fourteen students last year—ten of them in elementary, four in seventh or eighth grade.

But Ma doesn’t want me to accept their offer. Too far away, she says. We don’t know anything about these people, she says. I have to persuade her. There are no other jobs for me here, other than being a housemaid or working at the plant. And either of those would be awful. Cleaning up after people? De-feathering chickens by plucking and dipping in boiling water? Pa says he’ll convince Ma. And he said he’d travel with me on the train and stagecoach to meet the Fergusons and be certain everything is proper and safe. I hope he does! I’m so excited!

Yours faithfully,

Maribelle Spencer

CHAPTER 1

A dog was tied to the front door of The Marietta Times when Angie Kramer, editor of the paper, pulled up in her pickup truck. Long, dirty, tangled brown hair obscured the dog’s face, as it raised its head. Patches of mange on its sides and legs were oozing yellowish fluid, and a filthy rag was tied around one of its feet. Angie looked up and down Main Street. No signs of anyone who might have left the dog. At 6:30 a.m., the street was deserted, other than a vehicle in front of the Old West Coffee Shoppe next door.

Bernie, Angie’s half Saint Bernard and half standard poodle mix, and Wrigley, his six-month old half-Bernie and half-Weimaraner daughter, had climbed into the front seat and were barking furiously. Wrigley was attacking the passenger-side window with her paws, leaving dirt streaks from top to bottom. Bernie was depositing large splotches of drool on the inside of the windshield. “You two get in the back where you belong!” Angie yelled. Bernie whined and retreated to the back. Wrigley ignored Angie and scrambled to plant both front feet on the dashboard to better see out the window. She barked twice and pressed her nose against the windshield.

“Wrigley! Back!” Angie reached for the dog whistle she’d acquired for training the 6-month-old puppy. Wrigley scrambled into the back, crowding Bernie as they both stuck their noses to the partially open back window. The larger Bernie—nearly 100 pounds with Saint Bernard coloring and tightly curled poodle fur—nudged the smaller dog out of the way.

“Both of you, stay!” Angie slowly opened the truck door and slid out. The heel of her black boot hit ice under the snow, and she slipped and fell sideways, landing on her back with legs sprawled. Angie grabbed the edge of the open truck door and pulled herself back up. The back of her black jeans was encrusted with dirty snow. She brushed furiously at her backside and closed the door before the dogs could escape. “I hate the first snow of the season, especially when it’s still two months till winter,” she muttered. Skirting the sad dog, who had dropped his head back to the sidewalk, she walked to the door of the coffee shop. Inside, she could see Kassie, the young proprietor, working behind the counter. Angie tapped on the glass door.

Kassie glanced at the door and waved, a broad smile on her face as she came around the counter and unlocked the door. She was dressed in a green Robin Hood hat with an orange feather, an orange T-shirt with a maniacally laughing jack-o’-lantern printed on it, and dark green tights. Earrings with dangling pumpkins completed her outfit. Her short dark hair was tipped with orange highlights.

“A little early for Halloween, isn’t it?” Angie pushed the door open. “Coffee ready?”

“Never too early for ghosties and ghoulies and things that go thump in the night,” Kassie said. “Matt and I watched the movie last night, so I was inspired.” Kassie was engaged to Matt Harper, Angie’s nephew and the acting chief of police for the town of Marietta, Wyoming. Matt was the reason Angie had stopped in Marietta when she’d been on her way to Seattle to start a new life. She’d seen a sign advertising a position as a reporter in the window of the Times. She’d gone inside and, an hour later, had the job.

“The movie Halloween? Gruesome!”

“Nope, the Charlie Brown special . . . It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! One of my all-time favs.” Kassie re-locked the door and went behind the counter to pour a cup of coffee. She handed it to Angie. “And before you ask, the dog was tied to the Times door when I arrived this morning, poor thing. He looks so sad. And in bad shape, physically. I had a couple dog treats in my jacket pocket and tossed them to him. The way he gobbled them down, he must be starving.”

Angie took the cup of coffee to the front table, where she could keep an eye on the tied-up dog by her office door. She pulled off her knit hat. Her reflection in the window caused her to rummage in her purse for a brush to tame her chin-length brown hair from where it had frizzed into a wild tangle. Patting into place the white streak that started at her widow’s peak, she took a sip of coffee. “This is the third dog abandoned on my doorstep in the past two weeks. I’m going to write a story in the next issue of the paper telling people the animal shelter is still in the planning stages. We have the site. We have the plans. But we don’t yet have the money to build it!”

“I know. That woman got everyone worked up about the shelter. Who knew her foundation would turn out to be a money-laundering operation?” Kassie said, a sympathetic expression on her face.

A few months earlier, a woman named Becky Fremont had come to Marietta with big plans to build an animal shelter. The county didn’t have any shelters, and people had been excited about the project. But the whole thing turned out to be a money-laundering enterprise run by a murderous South American cartel, and they had kidnapped Angie, Bernie, and a young girl to cover their tracks. When that dustup settled, a group of local people had decided a shelter really was needed and had formed a committee to begin planning and raising money.

Angie sighed. “Yeah, who would have known? But the Times wrote a lot of glowing stories about the plans for the shelter trying to build community support, and now people think we’re the focal point of the shelter project.” She grimaced. “And they leave dogs for us to take care of.”

“What are you going to do with this one? Take it over to the Spearfish shelter?”

“I don’t know. They accepted the other two but said they’re full up and can’t take any more.” Angie looked at Kassie. “Where’s Matt? He’s the police chief. I think I’ll turn this one over to him to decide what to do.”

Kassie laughed. “He’s asleep right now. Didn’t get home till early this morning. Mumbled something about firing his deputy, Red, and fell asleep with his clothes on. Want me to give him a message when he gets up?”

“No, I have a better idea. I’ll call Bob.” Bob Harris was the second most senior officer on the three-person Marietta police force. He was young and still enthusiastic; he and Angie had developed a bond when he’d been assigned to guard her cabin from white supremacists. “He’ll figure out something!”

A tap on the door of the coffee shop alerted Kassie to the time. “Gotta open up, Angie. Good luck with the dog. And Bob.” She rushed to the front door, unlocked it, and took her position behind the counter.

Angie took a swallow of her coffee and stood up. She waved at Kassie and went outside. The dog tied to the newspaper office door had collapsed in a jumble on the sidewalk. It raised its head and sighed. “Okay, dog. I’ll get you some food and water. Then you’re departing for better places,” Angie assured him. She unlocked the door to the office. After preparing bowls of dog chow and water, she untied the dog and led him inside. She could hear Bernie and Wrigley loudly complaining from her truck. After locking the abandoned dog in her small back office, Angie went outside and opened the passenger door of the truck. The two dogs leaped from the truck and pawed at the office door.

“Okay, you can go inside, but behave yourselves.” Angie opened the door and stood back as her dogs raced to the closed door of her office. Bernie wuffed and scratched at the door, while Wrigley stuck her nose against the crack at the bottom. No sounds emerged from inside the office. “I hope he’s all right,” Angie said with a frown. A crash and sounds of thrashing and scratching at the door signaled that the dog was all right, but her office might not be. She took off her coat and hung it on the hook by the door, then dug in her purse, pulled out her phone, and tapped in the number for the police department.

“Agnes, this is Angie Kramer. Is Bob there?” Angie listened impatiently as Agnes, the police department’s longtime receptionist, explained at great length why Bob wasn’t in the office.

“Okay, well. Can you radio him and ask him to come to the Times office on his way back?” Agnes assured her she could do that. “Thanks, Agnes. Tell him it’s not an emergency, but it’s urgent that he get here as soon as he can.” Angie punched off the phone and collapsed into the desk chair usually occupied by Samantha Johanson, her young reporter. Sam was a former rodeo star and beauty queen. Her rodeo fame gave her entrée into the local sports world and gossip—something Angie, as a decidedly nonathletic refugee from Chicago, appreciated on behalf of the newspaper. Sam had told Angie she’d be helping her father on the ranch this morning and not to expect her until later.

Angie stood up, acutely aware of the cold wetness of her jeans. A damp splotch was evident on the seat of the chair. She started for her office, which led to the tiny bathroom in the back hallway. Realizing she couldn’t reach the bathroom without going through the office and unleashing the chaos of the dogs, she sighed, retrieved her coat and lay it on the seat of the chair. She sat down again and turned on the desktop computer to pull up the layout for the newspaper’s next edition. The layout was nearly complete, but there were still two gaps on the front page. Angie opened a new blank document and started typing.

The city council meeting story that would fill one of the front page gaps was nearly done by the time Bob tapped on the front door and swung it open.

“What’s up, Angie? Agnes said it was urgent.” Bob leaned against the wall and took off his hat. “Always nice to see you, but there’s a house alarm and a domestic disturbance I need to get to.” He ran his fingers through his short sandy hair, making it stand up in peaks.

“Bob! I’m so happy you’re here,” Angie said, springing up from her chair. “Someone left another dog tied to the front door.” She pointed at the closed door of her office, where Bernie and Wrigley were guarding the intruder. They looked up but held their positions. “I put him in my office. Can you take him? Either to the Spearfish or Gillette shelter?”

“Geez, Angie. Don’t see how I can do that. You said Spearfish wasn’t taking any new animals the last time, and Gillette is seventy miles from here—two hours round trip.” He turned to open the door and leave.

“Please, Bob. Can’t you take him? Leave him in one of the cells at the police station until we figure something out?”

“Oh, Agnes would love that. A dog to feed, water, and listen to it whine all day? She’d throw me and the dog out of the building,” Bob said. “She’s a lot scarier than you are!” He opened the door and made a hasty retreat to his cruiser before Angie could marshal any other arguments.

“Now what am I going to do with that animal?” Angie collapsed back into her seat. She rubbed her forehead and returned to the city council meeting story.

An hour later, Sam arrived. She was dressed for ranch work—well-worn boots, Wranglers, and a blue plaid flannel shirt. The battered hat and boots made her several inches taller than her actual five feet eight inches. Her blond hair was streaked with purple, and her short nails were a matching color. Sam had been an intern at the Times the previous spring, and Angie had offered her a full-time job when she’d graduated from college.

“Hey, Angie. Sorry I’m a little later than I expected. My dad needed me to help move some cattle this morning,” Sam said. “Why are you sitting at my desk?”

“You’re not really late, since your official hours are nine-to-five. It’s only a few minutes after 8:30,” Angie said. “And I’m sitting at your desk because there’s another abandoned dog in my office.” Another crash from the office made Angie wince. “Destroying it, apparently.”

“Oh! What kind of dog is it?” Sam approached the closed door. Bernie and Wrigley leaped up, prepared to pounce if the door opened. Sam put her hand on the doorknob, then withdrew it when there was a loud thud as something hit the door from the other side. She turned to Angie. “Is it mean?”

“I don’t think so—just scared and sick.” Angie stood up and reached for the leashes hanging by the front door. “Let me get my dogs into the truck or all hell will break loose when you open the door.” She wrestled with Wrigley and Bernie to get the leashes on, then pulled them away from the office door. Two minutes later, they were in the truck with their noses pushed as far as they could go out the partially open windows.

“There,” Angie said, as she re-entered the front office. “Now, let’s see what the animal has been up to in my office.” Sam stood aside and Angie cracked open the door. The dog barreled out of the room, frantically looking around. Sam grabbed the end of the rope that was tied around its neck. The dog fought the rope, biting at it, but finally lay down and refused to move. Sam extended a dog treat to the dog and was rewarded with a soulful look. She held her hand out again and the dog licked it.

“Looks like he ate all the dog food I left for him, then threw it up,” Angie said, peering into her office. “Then went under my desk, got tangled up in the cords and pulled my computer off the desk.” She stepped inside. “Bookshelf is dumped over too.” She turned and glared at the dog. “For an old, what I thought was sick, dog, you did a lot of damage!”

“He’s a good dog, Angie.” Sam tugged lightly on the rope. “Sit!” The dog rose to its haunches. “Drop!” The dog slowly sank to the floor. “See, he’s had some training.” She ran her hands over the dog’s head. “Not sure what type he is. A mutt, for sure. Maybe a cross between some sort of schnauzer and a German shepherd?”

“Whatever. We just need to find someone to take him. Any ideas?”

“How about Dr. Wilcox, the vet? He can check him over, make sure he doesn’t have anything contagious, and treat his mange.”

“And how much will that cost?”

“Nothing. Doc Wilcox is a friend of my dad’s. I’m sure he’ll do it for free unless the dog needs surgery. I’ll see if he’ll keep him in the kennel for a couple days too. He might be able to find a home for him.”

Angie sighed with relief. “Great. Take him. Now. When you get back, we need to talk about filling in a couple stories so we can put the paper to bed tomorrow. I have plans for the weekend.”

After Sam led the dog away, Angie went outside and let Bernie and Wrigley out of the truck. They raced to the front door. She opened it and watched as they scoured the office with their noses for traces of the intruder. “Okay, that’s it for fun today. I have work to do, so you two take a nap.” Angie went in her tiny office—it was just large enough for a desk, four-shelf bookcase, and a small table that held a printer. A picture of the Acropolis and a poster of a surrealistic cat with the words “Pity the poor cat with nine lives to live” provided the only color on the grayish-brown walls. The office was sandwiched between the front room of the building and a short hallway that led to the back door. The cramped bathroom with a toilet and sink was behind her office.

After returning the computer and the books to their usual places, and cleaning up the mess on the floor, Angie transferred the city council file to her computer and began working on it.

CHAPTER 2

An hour and a half later, Angie dropped the story into the layout. She opened a new blank document, intending to write a brief story headlined “DO NOT LEAVE ANIMALS AT THE TIMES OFFICE!” She was contemplating a strong lead sentence when the front door opened. She looked up, expecting Sam.

“Hey, Ms. Editor-in-Chief, I’m back!” Ed Majewcik former editor and current owner of The Marietta Times, walked in. His thinning gray hair was covered with an NRA-embossed cap, and a gray beard straggled down his chin. Ed was dressed in camouflage and had a broad smile on his face. “Got my elk!” He’d left six days earlier, after an early snow in the mountains, to go elk hunting with his aging cadre of Vietnam veteran pals. The absence of his bride, Kate, who was in New Mexico preparing their winter retreat, had made the hunting trip timely. “And brought you the mail.” He walked into her office and plunked himself down on the edge of her desk.

“What’s been going on around here in my absence?” Ed handed the stack of mail to Angie. “Where’s Sam? I need to thank her for her dad’s suggestions about where the elk are gathering this year.”

“Not much happening, Ed, other than another dog being left at our doorstep. Sam took him over to Doc Wilcox to be checked over.” Angie thumbed through the mail. Ads, a couple bills, and two letters addressed to the newspaper’s advice column. She sat back in her chair and listened as Ed launched into a long and detailed story of his elk hunting expedition. She nodded and asked a few questions, spurring Ed to greater exposition on his hunting triumphs.

“So, you got your elk and it’s a big one,” Angie said when Ed wound down. “Are you back at work for a while?”

“At your service, Angie. What do you need me to do?”

Angie examined the layout on her screen. “We have a six-inch hole on page three. Any ideas?”

Ed leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. After a couple minutes, he raised a hand and pointed at Angie. “How about a story on mountain lion hunting season? With a focus on mountain lions here in the northern Black Hills.”

Angie was aghast. “Mountain lions? There are mountain lions around here? Where?”

Ed chuckled. “Yep, lots of them. Two years ago, thirty were taken in the county during the season. If thirty were killed, you know there’s a lot more. They’re wily and hard to find and track.”

“Like, mountain lions? Big cats, long claws and teeth?” Angie was horrified, imagining her dogs encountering mountain lions when they raced around her cabin.

“That’s the ones,” Ed said, enjoying her discomfort. “They mainly stay away from people but not always. There was one over in South Dakota that was discovered up a tree in the middle of an elementary school playground. Young male cat apparently was thinking a kindergartner was about the right size for a couple meals.” He shook his head. “They had to put that one down.” He went on. “Then there was the family over in Moorcroft that had three dogs and left the doggie door open at night. Got up one morning and found two dead dogs in their basement, blood all over. The third dog was spotted dead, lying in the crotch of a tree. Mountain lions store their prey up trees for later meals.”

Angie resolved to never let Bernie and Wrigley outside again. “I could have gone a long time without knowing all this. But, yes, write the story. When does lion hunting season start?”

“Already has—September to March, every year. Not too many people get licenses to hunt them because not too many people have a good dog that they’re willing to risk against a mountain lion. And the probability of getting one is low—maybe one or two out of ten hunters are successful.” He stood up. “Okay, I’ll work on that and get it to you in a few hours. I need to get an update on this year’s quota and any new regulations from the Wyoming Game and Fish Department.” He turned to go to his desk in the front office, then stopped. “Hey, you haven’t sent me an advice letter this week. Better get going on that if you want to finalize the paper before the weekend.”

“Working on it next. Check your email in an hour.” Angie turned back to her computer and quickly wrote up the front page piece asking people not to leave stray dogs on her doorstep. She clicked on Save and copied the story into the layout. “Perfect, now the advice column.”

A year and a half before, right after Angie had taken the reporter job with the Times, she’d suggested adding an advice column to the paper’s regular features. Ed, who was then editor in chief, had agreed. The format was different from most advice columns: Answers were provided by Angie, who was in her mid-thirties and thrice-divorced, her nephew, Matt, a mid-twenties law enforcement officer, and Ed, the self-styled “Grumpy Old Man.” The advice provided by the three often differed significantly, and the column had quickly become popular locally—especially because of the Grumpy Old Man’s sometimes hilarious perspectives on the problems posed by letter writers. Several small newspaper syndicates had picked up the column, and it now appeared in nearly thirty weekly papers in Wyoming, Montana, and North Dakota.

Angie pulled the file folder with letters from advice-seekers from the top of the small bookshelf. There were over a dozen “possibles,” but none struck her as having much entertainment value. She set the folder aside and picked up the two letters from the day’s mail. She opened and skimmed through the first letter. “Good one!” She opened a blank document, typed in an edited version of the letter, and wrote her response. “That’ll get Ed going,” she said to herself as she emailed the document off to Ed and Matt for their responses.

Angie picked up and opened the second letter. The letter writer was writing on behalf of her great-grandmother. The great-grandmother’s older sister had come to Wyoming in 1923 to teach in a one-room schoolhouse north of Hulett. She’d written letters weekly to her family for months, but, shortly before the end of the school year, the letters stopped coming. The host family she’d been staying with sent a letter to them saying the teacher hadn’t returned to their home one afternoon—and neither had their oldest son, who had been responsible for picking her up at the school. The assumption was that the two had run away together, but neither had taken any clothing or personal possessions with them. “My great-granny’s father went to Wyoming, in the hope that he could find his daughter, but there were no signs of where she’d gone or what happened to her. He finally gave up, packed up her clothes and other items, and came home. Great-granny is 102 and says she wants to know what happened to her sister before she dies.” The letter writer went on to say she’d learned that The Marietta Times was the oldest continuously published paper in northeastern Wyoming. She asked for any information that might be in the paper’s archives about the missing teacher.

Angie got up from her desk and went into the front office. She handed the letter to Ed. “What do you think about this? Do we have archives that go back that far?”

Ed skimmed through the letter and handed it back. “We do. The paper was started in 1882, two years before the Sundance paper. We don’t have paper copies going back that far, but the Marietta Museum has all the issues from 1882 through 1940 on microfiche. I’d be surprised if there isn’t a couple stories about this missing teacher and young man. Sounds like a scandal people would be avid to read about. Especially back then.”

“You want to follow up on this?” Angie said hopefully.

“Nope. My eyes would blur after about an hour. Microfiche isn’t easy to read, and it’s all down in the dark and stuffy basement at the museum. Sounds like a job for Sam. Or you, if you’re interested.”

“No problem. This isn’t urgent. But I’ll follow up with the museum. Did you get the advice column I sent?”

“I did. Don’t agree with you. But you knew I wouldn’t. I’ll have my response to you soon. No editing!”

“Agreed. Other than misspellings. I’ll be interested in what Matt has to say on the topic,” Angie said, a grin on her face. “This is one of those male-female perspectives things.”

Ed scowled at her. “Perspectives, schemectives! It’s a moral issue. You’re wrong. Period.”

Angie went back to her office and came out with the dogs’ leashes. “I’m going to take the dogs to the dog park. Sam should be back soon. Tell her I left the missing sister letter on her desk and we’ll talk about it when I get back.”

By the end of the day, the layout for the paper was final. Ed and Matt had provided their responses to the advice letter, Sam had finished the rodeo column, and all holes were filled. Angie got the dogs into the truck and went home. A Lean Cuisine dinner, a glass of wine, and some time outside playing with Bernie and Wrigley filled the evening.

###

The Marietta Times

Oct. 10, 2019

Ask AK, Matt and the Grumpy Old Man

Dear AK, Matt and Grumpy: I was dating a nice guy, but he moved to Ohio two weeks ago. It was early days and, while I was a little sad when he told me he was leaving, it’s not like I was devastated. We really weren’t that into each other. But now I have a problem. Today, I found out I’m pregnant. He’s the father, no doubt about that. And I’m planning to keep the baby. I don’t need financial support from him, and I’d just as soon raise the child on my own. My quandary is: Do I have to tell him about this?

Signed: Ready to be a mother, but not ready for a lifetime commitment to a man I hardly know

AK: This is a difficult one, Ready. If you really don’t know the man well, you don’t have any way to know whether you want him in your child’s life, short of hiring a detective to do an in-depth background check. A background check might turn up that he’s really good guy who would want to know he’s a father and want to be involved. But there’s a lot of other things to consider. What happens if you later get married to someone else? How would your new husband feel about the relationship between you and the father of your child? I can understand why you feel it would be simpler not to involve the bio father. It’s a decision only you can make, weighing the pros and cons. Both for your life and for your child’s.

Matt: You absolutely have to tell him. He has a right to know that he’s going to be a father. Half that baby’s genes are his, and he may feel strongly that he wants . . . needs . . . to be involved in his child’s life! If he does, it’ll be complicated, but you say he’s a nice guy. You can work it out, and your child will know he or she has a father who cares about them. Of course, it’s possible the man isn’t as nice as you think and will deny responsibility and ghost you. In that case, you’ll be free to raise the child as you want. But that would be sad for your child.

GOM: Who decided men have no rights? This “nice guy” (according to you) doesn’t have any right to know he’s fathered a child? You both are equally responsible for creating this new life, even though you’re the one who’s carrying it in your body. Maybe he’d want to do a background check to find out if you’d be a good mother! Men are people too. Most men love their children, want what’s best for them, and would die for them, if necessary. And you would deny this “nice guy” the right to know his child, be involved in the child’s life, just because you think it would be simpler for you. What will you tell your child when it asks you about its father? Simpler for you won’t be simpler for your child, who will spend its life wondering and searching for the father he or she has never known. Tell the “nice guy!” Because it’s the right thing to do!

  ____________________________________________________________

AK and Matt are an aunt-and-nephew team who are experts at solving all sorts of problems. The Grumpy Old Man is a Grumpy Old Man with strong views on nearly everything. Send your questions to them at The Marietta Times, and they’ll do their best to provide you with answers, which may (or may not) be helpful. Please note: We accept no liability if you act on any of our advice and it turns out badly.

CHAPTER 3

The relaxing weekend Angie had planned wasn’t quite what she had hoped for. Saturday morning, the dogs began barking frantically. By the time Angie got outside, they were yelping and scrambling to get out from under the deck. The strong smell of close-by and irritated skunk accompanied them as they dashed past Angie and into the cabin. The skunk waddled out from under the deck and headed toward the pine trees behind the cabin.

Angie rubbed her eyes, which had begun to sting and water, and went inside. The dogs were whining, and Wrigley was on her back rolling back and forth. Angie quickly opened all the windows in the small cabin. The 800-square-foot home had a living room/kitchen, one bedroom with an attached bathroom, and a small utility room with a back door. A desk occupied a corner of the living room, and its pull-out leaves transformed it into a table. She turned on the computer on the desk and Googled “removing skunk smell from dogs.” Thousands of results popped up. She scanned quickly, and the American Kennel Club recommended washing the dog in a mixture of baking soda, peroxide, and dishwashing soap. “I can do this one,” Angie said to herself. She went to the utility room and retrieved a bucket, then assembled the ingredients, filled the bucket with water, and mixed up the solution.

Bernie and Wrigley were continuing to whine and paw at their eyes. Angie grabbed a scrub brush and picked up the bucket. She dragged Bernie outside, off the deck, and onto the grass. Holding him firmly by the collar, she poured the anti-skunk-smell solution liberally over him, and started scrubbing till he was covered with foam. The concoction was slippery and Angie’s fingers slipped off Bernie’s collar. He raced back into the house. Angie sighed as she saw foam spray the couch he landed on. She went inside, hooked a leash on Wrigley, and dragged her outside to the deck. After tying the young dog to the deck railing, Angie repeated the process. Several trips inside to fill the bucket with clear water to rinse the dogs was followed by a rough toweling.

Angie leaned down and sniffed Wrigley’s fur. “Eww, still skunky.”

Several baths later, the smell was reduced to a tolerable level. Angie finally unleashed the dogs and let them back in the cabin. Inside, the odor remained strong. Angie sprayed the area rugs and the couch with Febreze, but the pungent scent of skunk permeated the cabin. And, Angie realized, she now smelled like skunk.

Angie had planned to go to Gillette, see a movie, and go shopping for new clothes. Saturday night, she’d invited Matt and Kassie over for dinner, along with Fergie, Bernie’s other daughter and Wrigley’s sister. She cancelled the trip to Gillette and called Kassie to postpone the dinner-doggie playdate. Deep cleaning the cabin and sitting outside on the deck were her only recreations for the weekend. She wasn’t happy and became even unhappier when Nick—her friend and occasional lover—didn’t call Saturday night.

Nick Pappas was a former Army M.P. who had mustered out two years ago. On his way to California, he’d stopped to visit then-Marietta police Chief Mike Johnson. His dark good looks and crooked smile had entranced Angie, and they had become close over the past year, when he’d decided to join Matt’s and Kassie’s private investigation agency. When Angie had been captured by a drug cartel and seriously injured, Nick had moved into her cabin to take care of her for several weeks. Their relationship had become more serious, but Angie, three times divorced, was wary of involvement. Nick was getting frustrated with her unwillingness to make a commitment. He’d only called once in the past week while he was away investigating an insurance claim in Billings.

Sunday morning, early, Angie was sleeping when her phone rang. She blearily opened her eyes, picked up her phone, and answered. “Nick? Why are you calling at six-fifteen in the morning? Is everything all right?” She sat up in bed, pushing Bernie away as he tried to join her.

“No. My father’s had a heart attack,” Nick said, his voice tense. “I’m leaving for Chicago from Billings this morning.” Nick had grown up in Chicago, as had Angie. His family owned a Greek restaurant in the city, which coincidentally had been one of Angie’s parents’ favorite restaurants. Angie had met Nick’s family the previous summer when she and Nick had traveled there for his grandmother’s ninetieth birthday celebration.

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, Nick. Do you know how serious it is?”

“Very bad,” Nick said, his voice breaking. “His heart stopped, and they had to resuscitate. He’s in cardiac intensive care now, and the prognosis isn’t good. I need to be there.”

“Of course you do. Is there anything I can do?”

“I’m at the airport now, about to get on the plane. Would you call Matt and Kassie and tell them what’s happening? I don’t know when I’ll be back. Tell them I’ll send my report on the insurance claim once I get to Chicago.”

Angie could hear the echoing boarding call on the other end of the phone. “I’ll do that. Anything else?”

“Just pray, I guess. I have to get on the plane. I’ll call you from Chicago.”

Angie started to respond, but Nick had ended the call. She sank back on the bed, absent-mindedly rubbing Bernie’s head. Nick’s father, Pericles—“call me Perry” —had welcomed her warmly when she’d met him. She saw Nick in his father’s thick dark hair, sharp brown eyes, and stocky muscular build. The thought of Perry lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines, was devastating. A tear trickled down her cheek, and she said a silent prayer.

CHAPTER 4

Early Monday morning, Angie dropped Bernie and Wrigley at the groomer’s for a deodorizing bath. Despite baking soda, vinegar, tomato juice—all the recommended skunk odor removing products—the scent still clung to their fur. The Times office was deserted when she arrived; it was too early for Sam and much too early for Ed. Angie sat at her computer and retrieved the final layout to review one last time before delivering it to the print shop. Dan Axelrod, proprietor of Axelrod’s Printing and Carpentry, would call when he’d finished the run.

Angie stood and stretched. As she did, the slight aroma of skunk wafted around her. She sniffed, made a face, and called Janice Meiners, owner of the Wak & Yak Salon. “Do you have any kind of shampoo that gets rid of skunk smell?” Angie waited until Janice stopped laughing.

“Sure do, hon. You need some?”

Angie sniffed a lock of her hair and grimaced. “I do. Dogs found a skunk a couple nights ago, and the smell is sticking to me. I’ll be over soon to pick it up, okay?”

“Just knock at the door, and I’ll bring it to you,” Janice said. She laughed again. “I don’t need that smell in the shop!”

After assuring Janice she wouldn’t contaminate the salon, Angie hung up. She could hear noises in the front office that told her Sam had arrived. “Hey, Sam. That you?”

The door to Angie’s office opened. “Whew! What happened?” Sam took a step back and waved her hand in front of her face.

“Skunk attack. I sent the final version of tomorrow’s paper to Dan. He’ll call when it’s ready. I’m going next door to get some coffee. Want anything?”

Sam took a few more steps backward as Angie approached the door. “No, thanks. Would you like me to spray you with Febreze before you go over there?”

“Sure, why not?” Angie stood in the middle of the front office while Sam thoroughly doused her in spray.

“I guess that’s better,” Sam said, a doubtful look on her face. “You should probably sit a ways away from anyone if you’re going to sit down at the coffee shop . . . hey, it looks like Ed’s here early today.” Angie looked out the window to see Ed’s battered old pickup pulling into a parking place across the street.

“Tell him I’ll bring him an espresso,” Angie said, opening the front door.

The Febreze seemed to dampen the scent. No one looked up or wrinkled a nose when Angie entered the coffee shop and went to the counter. Kassie was sitting on the stool by the counter, her laptop perched on her knees. She wore a black and white checkered Harlequin hat. Her T-shirt was red with the image of a black and white checkered flag and “I win!” in bold black letters printed underneath. Black leggings and red shoes completed her day’s ensemble.

“Cup of coffee and an apple fritter, Kass,” Angie said. “I need sugary carbs, what with the weekend I had.”

Kassie smiled, then wrinkled her nose. “Uh, huh. A little skunky, still, though the Febreze smell almost covers it. Have you heard anything more from Nick?”

“He texted me last night. His dad’s still in the ICU with blockages in two arteries. Nick says they are probably looking at doing bypass surgery.” Angie shook her head. “He said he’d know more today after they get results of all the tests.”

“That’s terrible. I hope Nick’s dad comes through it all without any problems. My gram had to have bypass surgery when she was in her seventies, and it took her nearly a year to really recover.” Kassie handed Angie a cup of coffee and a fritter wrapped in waxed paper.

Angie pulled a five-dollar bill from her pocket and handed it to Kassie. “Where’s Matt today? I want to talk to him about a letter to the advice column.”

“No, you don’t! Those letters are poison. Did you forget about the one that led to two deaths by arson and our sheriff being killed by a drug cartel? I’ve told Matt I don’t want him getting involved in any of your ‘I just want to give some advice’ situations!” Kassie glared at Angie. “He got shot last spring by the Nazi militia because of you.”

“Come on, that’s not fair. The militia was trying to take over Marietta, and he’s a police officer. It wasn’t me who ordered him into the shootout,” Angie protested. “Besides, this is about a teacher who went missing in Crook County back in the 1920s. If there was any foul play, the perp would be well over a hundred years old. And I just want Matt to talk to Sheriff Johnson and maybe check the county police logs, if they have them that far back.”

“Well, you can ask him yourself,” Kassie said. “He just pulled up outside. But sit a few feet away from him, will you? The Febreze is wearing off.” Angie took her coffee and fritter to the back table, next to the wall with the looming buffalo head.

Matt was in full uniform, outfitted with all his equipment, when he walked into the coffee shop. He took off his hat and went behind the counter to give Kassie a quick kiss. She handed him a cup of coffee, whispered to him, and pointed at Angie. Matt grinned as he headed to Angie’s table. “Kassie says I shouldn’t sit next to you. She doesn’t want me to smell like skunk all day.” He sat down catty-corner from Angie. “What’s up?”

“Just a cold case. Very cold,” Angie said. She rummaged in her purse and brought out a copy of the letter she’d received. “I was going to talk to you about this when you guys came over Saturday, but the skunk attack interrupted that plan.” She handed the letter to him.

Matt read it, then folded it and put it in his pocket. “Ninety-six years ago? I doubt there are any records going back that far. I’ll check the police department files this afternoon and talk to Mike tomorrow when I’m over in Sundance. But don’t hold your breath. I doubt there’s anything.”

“Thanks, Matt!” Angie got up. “I’m back to work.” She went to the counter and ordered an espresso for Ed. Takeout cup in hand, she went back to the Times office.

“What do you mean, Aunt Maude hasn’t paid her bill in two months! That’s not possible. It’s an automatic electronic payment, and I know she has the money in the bank.” Ed was on the phone, and the volume of his voice indicated he wasn’t happy. “All right! I’ll go talk to the bank and find out what’s happened.” He slammed down the phone as Angie set the espresso cup on his desk.

“Idiots!” Ed scowled at Angie. “Idiots! The assisted living facility is saying my aunt’s bills aren’t being paid. She’s been there for four years, and they’re saying she’ll need to move out if she doesn’t catch up on the charges.” He picked up the cup and drank the espresso in one gulp. “Thanks, Angie. I’m going over to the bank and then the facility to straighten this out. I haven’t met that new administrator they hired a while ago, but I’m going to give her what-for.” He got up and took his jacket off the hook by the door. “I don’t know if I’ll be back today. Depends on how screwed up this thing is.”

Sam and Angie watched him as he strode out the door and headed down Main Street toward the Marietta State Bank.

“What’s that all about?” Sam looked at Angie.

“His aunt is ninety-two and has been living in Morning Sun Assisted Living for a while. She was his mother’s younger sister, widowed and no children, so Ed watches out for her,” Angie said. “I’ve met her a couple times. She’s quite a character and really sharp, especially given her age. Ed got all up in arms last year when she told him she was thinking of getting married to one of the young men who works at the home. Ed had the police do a background check on the guy, and it turned out he’d had pulled something similar over in Colorado a couple years ago. When he’d tried to talk an elderly woman into lending him $10,000, a nurse overheard him and called the police. The victim refused to press charges, so the facility just fired him. Ed had a talk with him . . . a serious talk . . . and the guy quit and left the area. Aunt Maude was a little disappointed, but Ed said she laughed and told him it was fun while it lasted.” Angie grinned at Sam. “She told him it’d been twenty-five years since a man had told she was beautiful and kissed her, and she thought she’d string him along for a while to see how much further he’d go with it.”

“Hey, when I’m ninety-two, I might be willing to pay a small amount for a good-looking younger man to shower me with compliments and kiss me too,” Sam said. “She sounds like an interesting person. I like talking to old people. They usually have some amazing stories.”

“Yep. Me too,” Angie said. “I’m going to run over to the Wak & Yak and buy some shampoo that Janice says will get rid of skunk stink. You hold down the fort.”

CHAPTER 5

Ezra Noonan, president of the Marietta Community Bank, was behind the counter talking to one of the tellers when Ed walked in. The banker was portly, dressed in a dark blue pin-striped suit and vest. His gray Van Dyke beard was neatly trimmed, the ends of the moustache twirled upward.

Ed waved at him as he advanced. “Ezra, can we talk?”

Noonan looked up and nodded. “Sure, Ed. Come to my office.” He motioned to the short hallway that led from the lobby. Ed followed him to the office, where the bank president waved him to one of the two chairs in front of the desk. The office was furnished in antiques and paneled in walnut. The carved bookshelves behind the desk contained legal volumes and a large number of classic English novels. A football, signatures scrawled on it in black, was mounted in a place of honor on the otherwise empty middle shelf. Noonan sat down behind his desk. “What can I do for you?”

“I just got a call from the Morning Sun facility. They’re saying the electronic transfers that pay Aunt Maude’s monthly rent haven’t been made. I know she has money. She sold the ranch eight years ago and should have enough, even if she lives to a hundred and twenty. What’s going on?”

Noonan frowned. “Do you have financial power of attorney for Maude? I can’t share her financial information with you unless it’s authorized.”

“No. She’s in her right mind and has always managed her own money. You know her, she’s sharp as a tack,” Ed retorted. “I just figured there was some glitch with the transfer. Maybe got dropped in the system or something. Can you at least check that?”

Noonan put his hand on the computer mouse and clicked a few times. He looked up at Ed, concern on his face. “I can’t tell you anything, except that there’s no problem with our system. If you need more information, you’ll have to have Maude give us permission to share her finances with you.” He rubbed his forehead. “Ed, I think you need to go talk to her.” He opened a desk drawer and took out a tri-fold form. “This is a financial power of attorney form. Ask Maude to sign it, have two witnesses sign, then come back here and I can talk to you.”

Ed stood up abruptly. “Thanks for not helping, Ezra. I’ll be back.” He turned and strode out of the bank, muttering to himself. The medical complex, which included a clinic, rehab center, and a nursing home, as well as the assisted living facility, was on Main Street on the edge of town. Ed climbed into his truck and drove the three-quarter mile. He parked near the entrance to the one-story L-shaped brick building that housed assisted living.

The reception area was painted a cheery yellow and was decorated with cornstalks, pumpkins, and multi-colored straw flowers strewn around a sitting area with several comfortable chairs and a couch. The reception desk was vacant. Ed rang the bell on the desk, then signed himself in to visit Maude Strother. By the time he finished, a young woman with red hair, dressed in jeans and a striped sweater, arrived.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I was delivering the mail.” The woman was wearing a nameplate announcing her name was Jeannie. “How can I help you?”

“You’re new, aren’t you? I’m here to visit my aunt, Maude Strother. Can you tell me where she’s at this morning?”

The woman looked flustered. She pulled a three-ring binder out from under the counter and flipped through it. “This is only my second week on the reception desk. B-b-before I was just doing filing and data entry, so I don’t know all the residents yet. Did you say ‘Strother’?” Ed nodded, and she turned another page. “Oh, looks like she’s in the restorative therapy class this morning. Do you want me to call them, ask them to tell her you’re here?”

“No, I know where that is. I’ll just head down there and tell her myself,” Ed said, turning toward the long hall off the reception area. “I already signed in on the computer.”

The woman’s face scrunched up, and she flailed her hands in the air. “They said I need to announce visitors, sir. P-p-please let me call them. I’m afraid I’ll get in trouble if I don’t f-follow the rules.” She followed Ed as he entered the hall.

Ed turned and faced her. “Jeannie, I’ve been here a hundred times. Everyone knows me. You won’t get in trouble. Just go back to your desk and don’t worry about this.” The receptionist looked at him in despair and then shuffled her feet before going back. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” Ed said over his shoulder as he proceeded down the hall.

The restorative therapy room was near the end of the corridor. Ed peered through the window in the door. There were six women and two men in the room. Aunt Maude—short, thin, and wiry—was sitting on a bench, raising light weights up and down over her head. Ed watched her for a few moments. She was dressed in purple sweat pants and a bright blue T-shirt with Hold Your Horses printed on it in purple letters. He could see she had wires to earbuds and an iPod. Her curly white hair was bouncing, and her face glistened. Ed smiled. Maude had always been his favorite aunt—took him fishing, introduced him to classical music and science fiction, and had talked his mother into letting her take him to a civil rights march in Denver when he was twelve years old. At ninety-two, she maintained an avid interest in politics and kept a basket of plush balls to throw at the television when a politician she hated was on. He opened the door and went into the room.

“Hi, Aunt Maude.” He waved to get her attention.

She looked up, her bright blue eyes sparkling, and pulled the ear buds out. “Hey, Eddie. Didn’t expect to see you till the weekend. How’s that pretty young wife of yours?”

“Kate’s down in New Mexico getting our winter retreat ready. She won’t be back till next week,” Ed said. “Can we go to your room? We need to talk.”

“That’s a phrase that strikes terror in the recipient.” Maude picked up the spray bottle of sanitizer and sprayed and wiped the weights she’d been using. After she replaced them on the weight shelf, she bobbed her head in the direction of the door and transferred to her wheelchair. “Let’s go. I can’t wait to hear what this is about.”

Her room was painted light blue and had white woodwork. The single window had light green curtains. Pictures of Sundance Mountain with cattle grazing at the bottom and of Devils Tower in a snowstorm decorated the walls. The furniture included a bed, dresser with coffee pot and microwave on top, a mini-refrigerator, and two green and white striped chairs.

“Sit down and tell me why you’re here,” Maude said. She wheeled around to face him and gave him a piercing look.

“Maude, the assisted living people say your bill hasn’t been paid for the last couple of months.”

“That’s impossible! I set up an automatic transfer from my account at the bank,” Maude responded. “Must be a problem at the bank. I’ll call Ezra and find out how they’re screwing up.”

“Well, I already talked to Ezra. He wouldn’t give me any details, but he took a look at your account and then said I need to talk to you. If you want, you can sign a form that lets me have access to your financial data.” Ed pulled the form from his shirt pocket and tried to hand it to his aunt.

“No need for that. I’ll just call Ezra myself.” Maude picked up a cellphone from the top of her dresser. “What’s Ezra’s phone number? Oh, never mind, I’ll Google it.” She punched the phone a couple times. Ed could hear it ringing as Maude put it on speaker.

“Let me talk to Ezra. This is Maude Strother.” There was a minute delay, then Ezra answered. “Ezra! This is Maude. What’s going on over there? Eddie’s telling me you haven’t been sending the money to Morning Sun like I authorized.”

Ezra cleared his throat. “Umm, Maude. You only have $455.13 in your checking account. We couldn’t pay out to Morning Sun because you don’t have that amount of funds.”

“What are you talking about? I should have over $30,000 in my checking account!”

“It’s that other automatic transfer you have. To the Animal Rescue Fund. It’s been five thousand dollars a month for the last six months.”

“What? I made a one-time donation to them. Bobby Lee told me they were building a shelter in Marietta, and I signed a paper authorizing a one-time transfer, not monthly! You need to stop that! It’s fraud!” Maude’s voice quavered, and Ed saw her eyes fill with tears. She brushed them away and shrank back in her chair.

Ezra said, “I can do that. Just write a note to me to stop the transfers to the charity. Sign it, and Ed can bring it over.” He paused, then went on. “You do have money in your savings account. Quite a bit, as you know. We could transfer funds from savings to checking if you want. That would let us pay Morning Sun. Just include that direction to us in the note you give Ed.”

Maude thanked the banker and hung up. She opened a drawer in her dresser and took out a sheet of paper and quickly wrote on it. She signed the note and handed it to Ed. “There. Please take this over to the bank. I added that Ezra should give you a copy of the paperwork the bank got that says I authorized the animal rescue place to receive monthly payments.”

Ed stood and took the note, folded it, and put it in his shirt pocket. Maude’s distress was evident—the lines in her face were deeper, and her eyes glistened with tears. He bent and put his arm around her. “Don’t worry about this, Aunt Maude. I’ll talk to Ezra and see if we can find a way to recover the money. It’s probably just an error.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “You go back to the therapy room. Maybe you’ll get up to five pound weights if you keep at it.”

Maude smiled tremulously. “Maybe I will, boy. Thank you.”

Ed headed for the door, then stopped. “By the way, who’s the person you mentioned who told you about the animal rescue project? Bobby Joe something?”

“Bobby Lee. Bobby Lee McGill. He lives here. Just a kid, only eighty-something, and we play pinochle every once in a while. He said his grandson told him about the shelter.” She shook her head. “I’m sure Bobby Lee wouldn’t have had anything to do with the problem. He’s such a nice man. Always joking and teasing all the girls here.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll take care of this and see you Saturday.”

Ed left and headed to the bank. An hour later, he was back at the Times office. Sam had gone to pick up the week’s papers from the printer and deliver them to the post office and other outlets. Ed stuck his head in Angie’s office. “What’s the name of that fund to build an animal shelter here in Marietta?”

Angie looked up from her computer. “It’s the Marietta Animal Shelter Project. Why?”

“Have you ever heard of the Animal Rescue Fund?”

Angie clicked the keys of her computer. “I don’t see any organization here with that name on Google.”

Ed dropped the copy of the wire transfer authorization on Angie’s desk. “I think my aunt was scammed by someone. There was a box on the side, small print says ‘check here for recurring monthly donation,’ and it’s checked. She either didn’t notice it, or the check was added later.” He related what had happened when he’d gone to the bank and to see Maude. “Looks like they got at least $30,000. She has enough money that it’s not going to make her destitute, but she’s embarrassed that she didn’t review her bank statements and figure out what was happening.” He looked somber. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to have the talk with her about maybe it being time to have me overlook her financials.”

Angie had a thoughtful look on her face. “That gives me an idea. Maybe we should write a series of articles on scams targeting older people. What types there are, how to recognize them, and what to do if you’re scammed. What about it? Want to take the lead?”

“Absolutely. I need to look into this for Aunt Maude anyway. See if there’s any way to recover her money. I’ll see if she’s okay with my using her story, with a fictitious name, as an example. I’ll get started tomorrow. Go have a talk with Sheriff Johnson to get some background and see who to report this to.”

“Sounds good, Ed. I’m sorry about your aunt, but you can tell her there’s a positive side if her experience means maybe some other people will be alerted and avoid something like this.” Angie’s phone rang as Ed headed out the door. The dogs were ready to be picked up at the groomer’s.

CHAPTER 6

The newspaper hit the stands and mailboxes on Monday evening, so Tuesday was generally a quiet day with time for paperwork. Angie was sitting at her desk going over financial reports Tuesday afternoon when she heard loud noises outside. She ignored it until Sam stuck her head in Angie’s office.

“You need to come see what’s going on, Angie. There’s a protest going on in front of our building.” Sam was grinning. “Ed’s going to love this!”

A dozen men, some in suits, others in jeans and flannel shirts, were marching outside the Times office. They were chanting “Fathers have rights,” and several held placards. One read “Marietta Times Discriminates against Fathers.” Another read “All children deserve two parents.” A middle-aged man in a tan suit, who appeared to be the leader of the group, was waving a flag—white, with a silhouette of a man cradling an infant in his arms, and the words “MIA, not by choice” printed underneath.

Angie watched for a moment, her brow wrinkled, then looked at Sam. “What do you think this is about?”

“Your advice column,” Sam said. “Ed told you that you were wrong when you said that it was completely the mother’s decision whether to tell the guy he was going to be a father. Matt said sort of the same thing. Two against one—should have made you think before you put it in the paper.” She put her hand on Angie’s shoulder. “I thought you were off base, too, but I didn’t want to tell you.” Sam looked at the peaceful protest outside the window. “So, what do you want to do about this? It’s attracting quite a crowd.”

Angie could see interested townspeople gathering. A pickup truck went by and honked in support of the marchers. “I don’t know. I wish Ed were here. He’d take them over to the Coyote Nickel and buy them a beer.” She took a deep breath. “Well, I guess that’s what I should do.” Angie opened the door and stepped outside. She raised a hand. “Hello, everyone. I recognize your right to protest, but would you be willing to talk to me about this? Either next door in the coffee shop or across the street at the bar? Let me buy you a drink?”

The men stopped marching and looked at their leader. He handed the flag to one of the younger men and stepped over to Angie. She held out a hand. “I’m Angie Kramer, editor here. And who are you?”

“I’m George Potts, president of the Gillette chapter of the Fathers Are Parents, Too movement.” He stretched his hand to shake Angie’s. He was medium height, about forty, Angie guessed. He was clean-shaven, with thinning, wavy, brown hair dusted with white at the temples. His tan suit was well made and perfectly fitted. “We’re here to let you know that your advice column won’t go unanswered. It demonstrates exactly the type of bias and indifference to the role of men in raising strong healthy children that’s endemic in this country. You’re no different than men who think women’s place is in the home. You’re a sexist, and we’re committed to the rights of men to be involved in their child’s lives.”

Angie looked at him, stunned. She considered herself a liberal—had contributed money to Black Lives Matter, Native American Tribal Colleges, LGBTQ rights, women’s rights organizations, and usually voted Democratic in elections—and now she’s sexist? She shook her head. “George, I’m willing to listen to you.” She nodded at the other men now surrounding her. “I’m willing to listen to all of you. Please . . . please sit down with me, and let’s talk.”

George waved the men into a huddle. After a heated discussion, he turned back to Angie. “Okay, let’s go to the coffee shop next door.” He grinned at her and motioned her to lead on.

Customers scattered from the front windows of the coffee shop as Angie, George, and the others entered. Sam trailed the group, camera in hand.

“Let’s take the long table in the back,” Angie said. She stopped by the counter. “Kassie, put whatever they order on my account, will you?” She headed for the back table where the men were gathering. George Potts pulled a chair out for her in the center of one long side. Angie thanked him and sat down, leaning forward and making eye contact with several of the men staring at her.

George took the seat across from Angie. “Let me tell you a bit about our organization. We provide legal advice and assistance to men who’ve been denied paternal rights or who are in custody battles with the mothers of their children. We also provide support groups for men in those circumstances.” He handed Angie a business card. “I’m a family law lawyer. I started the Gillette group twelve years ago after my ex-wife gained primary custody of our children and then took them to Chile and stayed there. Chile isn’t a signatory of the Hague Convention on parental child abduction, and there’s little I can do legally. I haven’t seen my children since they were four and six. They’re teens now, but their mother so poisoned them against me that they refuse any contact.”

Angie saw deep sadness in his eyes and reached out to cover his hand with hers. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. I hope when they’re older, they reach out to you.”

George patted her hand. “Thank you. But mine is a common story. And there are much worse stories. At least I know my children are alive and well.” He glanced at a young man sitting next to Angie. “Dustin, would you be willing to tell Angie what happened with your child?”

Angie turned to face Dustin. He was in his mid-twenties with lank black hair and was dressed in jeans and a red plaid flannel shirt. His posture was one of defeat, shoulders slumped and head bent. “Sure, George,” he said in a low, husky voice. He glanced quickly at Angie and looked back down at his rough, callused hands. “The mother of my little boy didn’t tell me she was pregnant. We had a short fling after meeting at the cowboy bar in Gillette. I was driving a long-haul truck and headed to the coast with a load. When I got back, she’d disappeared and I didn’t think much of it. Two years later, the state of Wyoming contacted me demanding that I pay child support. The mother had applied for state assistance for her year-old son and named me as the father. I was shocked but willing to contribute to the child’s support.” He leaned forward, face in his hands. “I went to a lawyer to find out how I could get to see my son. Visitation rights. The lawyer was preparing the paperwork when I found out the boy—Trevor—was dead. His mother had left him with her boyfriend when she went to the grocery store. When she got back, she found Trevor dead in his crib. The boyfriend said he’d fallen out of his crib and hit his head, but the autopsy showed multiple blows to his head and body. The boyfriend had been drinking and beat him when he wouldn’t stop crying.” Dustin was weeping. “I never got to see him alive. I would have taken care of him, protected him, but . . .” He sobbed, unable to go on. An older man, sitting next to Dustin, put his arm around the younger man’s shoulder. He murmured to him, then helped Dustin up and led him toward the restroom.

After the restroom door closed, George looked at Angie. “That’s one story. Al, do you want to tell yours?”

A middle-aged man dressed in khakis and a white shirt nodded. “Sure, I’m one of the lucky ones. At least I get to see my children. But my kids aren’t so lucky. My ex-wife got primary custody when we divorced. My kids were two and six then—two boys. The custody agreement gave me two weekends a month with them. I tried to get shared custody, but the judge thought it would be too disruptive for them moving back and forth between us.

“My ex was a bookkeeper for a construction firm and a good mother, I thought. But after the divorce, she started going out to bars every night, picking up men and bringing them back to her place. Or sometimes not coming home at all. The boys didn’t tell me about this. I don’t know if they were afraid to tell me or if she told them not to. Robby, the older boy, did say his mom was sleeping a lot when she was home. And Jack, the younger boy, had started having nightmares and wetting the bed. I should have guessed something was going on.

“One morning, Robby called me. He was whispering and said he and Jack were hiding in a closet and his mom and a man were fighting. He was scared and wanted me to come and get them. I called 9-1-1 and hauled ass to her place. When I got there, there were police cars parked in front and the front door was broken. Mary—my ex—was in handcuffs and had bruises on her face and arms. The police officer told me drugs were found in the house. I got permission to take the boys home with me.

“After it came out that Mary had been selling coke, and using it, she was sentenced to probation. I petitioned for full custody and supervised visitation for Mary. Mary fought it and won. The judge decided the boys’ age meant that they should be with their mother and ordered her to rehab.” He looked around the table. “The presumption is that young children need their mother and, unless there are dangerous circumstances, they shouldn’t be separated from her.” Several of the men in the group nodded their heads. “Mary convinced the judge that she’d cleaned up her act, after she finished rehab, and could provide a stable home. So, she has them except for the two weekends they’re with me. According to Robby, she’s still going out most nights and leaving him, at 8 years old, to take care of his 4-year-old brother. I think she’s also doing drugs again, but I can’t prove it. I heard about George and came to him for help. I hope he can.”

“We’re working on it, Al.” George looked around the table. “Anyone else want to speak?” None of the other men responded. “Angie, our protest was mainly to get your attention and to open your mind to the systemic discrimination against fathers. There’s been progress over the last two decades, but stories like ours aren’t rare. I’d like to suggest you take a look at our website. There are more stories like these there. And, a lot of information that you should be aware of before you advocate that a woman not bother telling the father that she’s pregnant with his child.” He reached out and put his finger on the business card he’d given Angie. “Do the research. Once you have, call me and I hope we can talk further.”

Angie was overwhelmed—and embarrassed. When she’d written her answer for the column, she’d only looked at the issue from the writer’s point of view. George and his men had made her realize that there was more to it. “You’re right, George. I wasn’t thinking when I wrote that answer to the column. My two co-writers of the advice column told me I was wrong, and I didn’t listen.” She stood up. “I need to get to a meeting, but I promise I’ll look at your website and think about what you’ve told me. Thank you, all, for taking the time to come here and ‘open my mind.’ Give me a couple days and I’ll call you, George.”

Angie went around the table and shook hands with each of the men. Sam followed her out of the coffee shop.

“I got some great pictures!” Sam hefted the camera. “And recorded the discussion at the table. The front page of next week’s edition is practically written. What are you going to do?”

“Probably a mea culpa in the advice column. I’ll spend some time going over the website and doing some more research, but I’m convinced already that I was wrong to cavalierly say the writer doesn’t have to tell the father.” Angie stopped at the door to the Times. “Worst part is how Ed will make me eat crow. Matt will be polite, but Ed’ll rub it in!” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Oh, well. I’ll just have to consider it penance. I’m headed to Sundance for the school board meeting. Should be back by closing time.”

###

Angie was sitting at her computer, reading through the Fathers Are Parents, Too website, later that night when her phone rang. She quickly punched Accept.

“Nick, how’s your father?”

“He came through the bypass surgery and is in cardiac intensive care now. The surgeon said the operation was successful.” Nick’s voice was hoarse and exhausted. “I’ve just driven my mom and sisters home, and I’m going back to the hospital to stay with him.”

“Well, it’s good that the procedure was successful. But I know you’re worried about him,” Angie said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

There was a long, silent pause. “Angie, I’m not going to be able to come back. The doctors say my father will need at least six months to a year for full recovery. I need to stay here and manage the restaurant until he’s up to either returning or deciding to sell out and retire.”

Angie’s stomach knotted at the thought of Nick being out of her life for good. They’d become close. Nick had wanted more, but she’d been the one who’d been hesitant. Her eyes filled with tears. “Can’t you hire someone to run the restaurant?” she asked. “Is there anyone else who could do it?”

“I’m the oldest and the only one who is available to do this, Angie,” Nick said, his voice gentle. “I have a responsibility. My father—everyone—is counting on me to hold things together.” He stopped. “You know I care for you. We haven’t said it, but you know I love you. But this is my family.”

Angie fought back tears and took a deep breath. “I understand, Nick. I really do. What do you need me to do here?”

“Just explain to Matt and Kassie. Tell them I’m sorry to leave them in the lurch. And, if you have time, would you be able to box up my things in the apartment and have UPS pick them up? I’ll text you the address.”

“I’ll do that, Nick,” Angie answered, her voice steady. “Please tell everyone that my thoughts are with your father and all your family. I’ll let you know when the boxes are sent out.”

“Thanks, Angie. Take care of yourself.” Nick’s voice was thick, and he hung up abruptly.

Angie sat staring at the phone for a few minutes. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she brushed them away angrily. Bernie walked over to rest his chin on her thighs. She patted him absently and took a deep breath before turning off the computer.

CHAPTER 7

The county sheriff’s office was in the basement of the courthouse in Sundance. The reception area was empty when Matt entered on Wednesday morning, but he could hear a noise, loud as a chainsaw, coming from the back rooms. He headed back, checking each of the rooms to see who was there. Prisoners were in two of the three cells on one side of the hallway—one he recognized as a habitual drunk who was inclined to pick fights in bars. Matt nodded at him and received a one-finger salute in return. The sheriff’s office, the small conference room, work offices, and the file and evidence room were empty. The roaring noise grew deafening as Matt opened the door at the end of the hallway.

Acting Sheriff Mike Johnson was standing over a heavyset man in a dark blue uniform who was squatting in front of an ancient black safe in the corner of the room. The heavy-duty drill in his hands was pressed against the locking mechanism on the safe. His ears were covered with muffs, and he wore safety goggles. Matt stepped inside and touched Johnson on the shoulder. The sheriff whirled around, hand moving toward the pistol strapped to his hip.

“Whoa, it’s just me!” Matt yelled, putting his hands in the air. Johnson nodded and leaned down to the workman to shout in his ear. The noise dropped off as the drill slowed and stopped. The workman stood up, stretched, and rubbed his back.

“Take a break, Pork,” Johnson said. He reached up and pulled the plugs from his ears. “Go get some coffee or something. I need to meet with Matt here.”

Matt recognized Pork Guterman, the one locksmith in the county. “Hey, Pork. What’s up with the safecracking?”

“Developing a new skill. Breaking into hundred-year-old safes,” Pork said. “This here’s an old Victor safe built back in the late 1800s. They don’t make them like this anymore—double reinforced steel with a triple reinforced lock. I tried drilling through the bottom—usually the weakest part of a safe, but even that was reinforced.” He laid the drill, safety goggles, and earmuffs on top of the safe. “I’ll be back in an hour, Sheriff. Good to see you, Matt.” He headed out of the storeroom and down the hallway.

“Come on to my office, Matt.” The two men walked down the hall to the first door on the left. “Take a seat. Move that stack of paper.” Johnson went behind his desk and sat down. Papers were stacked a foot high on the single chair, the desk, a table, and on the floor. “I’m still digging out from the move from the old office.” The sheriff’s office had moved recently from an old stucco building across the street to the basement of the courthouse. “Hap wasn’t the most organized person, and I’m trying to re-construct the filing system.” The former sheriff, Hap Burlington, had been killed by the leader of a drug cartel two months before. Mike Johnson, former Marietta police chief, had been appointed acting sheriff until the November election.

Matt moved a stack of paper to the floor and sat down. “You’re always up for a challenge,” he said, a slight grin on his face. Johnson had constantly complained about paperwork when he was the Marietta police chief and Matt’s boss. “So, what’s with the safe? Somebody find it and turn it in?”

Johnson grimaced. “No, it’s part of my organizing things around here. When we moved from the other building, I found this in the basement. No key, of course, and it’s apparently been down there since at least the 1920s. Probably nothing important inside, but I didn’t want to get rid of it without checking. It’ll probably end up like Geraldo Rivera breaking into Al Capone’s secret vault—just dust and a few papers.”

“Well, be sure to let me know what you find. A good mystery is always interesting,” Matt said. “More interesting than the traffic tickets, wandering cattle, and home checks I’m spending most of my time doing. But I do have a couple issues that’ve come up and need to talk to you about.”

Johnson leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the desk. “Good! I need to think about something other than paperwork. What’s going on?”

“One’s an Angie thing—a letter to the advice column that asks for help with finding out what happened to a woman who went missing in this county. The kicker is, she went missing back in 1924. Angie asked me to ask you if you’d check the files here and see if you have any information on the case.”

“It would be Angie who comes up with something like this,” Johnson grumbled. He looked around his office. “These are just the files since the year 2000. There’s dozens of boxes I haven’t opened, and the office secretary is on maternity leave. So, tell Angie she’s welcome to come and go through files, but there’s no way I have time to dig through looking for a hundred-year-old case file.” He rubbed his forehead. “When you said it was an ‘Angie thing,’ I was worried she was opening some new can of worms.” Angie’s advice column had been the impetus for three major criminal incidents in the past year—with FBI involvement in each. “At least this time, it’s not going to involve us in shooting or kidnapping.”

Matt laughed. Sheriff Johnson was very fond of Angie, but his last words to her anytime they met were, “Stay out of trouble, okay?” “I’ll tell her what you said. Don’t be surprised if she takes you up on the offer, though. The other issue I’m dealing with is a theft at the Morning Sun Assisted Living facility. Seems like someone got Ed’s Aunt Maude to make a donation to a fraudulent animal shelter fund—not the one that Angie and Harriet are working on. Ed’s aunt thought she was authorizing a one-time donation and gave them her bank routing number and account number. Whoever it was changed the authorization to make it a monthly donation, and it wasn’t detected until they’d managed to transfer $30,000. I don’t have funds to hire a computer whiz to try to trace where the money went, but I might be able to track down who it was put this scam in play around here. What do you recommend?”

“Was her account in the Marietta State Bank?” Matt nodded. “They’re responsible for following up on fraud. So, first, go talk to Ezra about it. He’ll tell you what they’re doing and what they can do. If this has been going on for a while, though, she may be out of luck for at least part of what she lost. Banks limit liability for theft to sixty days. They expect the account owner to review their statements and report any odd activities within that period. If the theft has been going on longer than sixty days, the bank isn’t required to cover any losses that occurred earlier. Are you thinking this is a local scam?”

“It could be. Ed’s aunt said that one of the other residents at Morning Sun told her about the animal shelter project and its need for money. Some guy named McGill. He told Maude his grandson was working on the shelter fundraising.”

Sheriff Johnson’s feet hit the ground and he leaned forward, a scowl on his face. “Bobby Lee McGill? That’s a good place for you to start your investigation! The McGill clan has been in the county for 120 years and probably caused more trouble for law enforcement than any other ten families put together. Cattle rustling, bootlegging, and just plain thefts and assaults. Every generation has continued the pattern. The original family settled up near Colony back in the 1890s, I think. The father died right after, and the mother—Ma McGill—and her five sons terrorized everyone in the county. There’s a history of the family, written by one of the past sheriffs, in the Marietta Museum. When she died, her oldest son took over as the patriarch of the family. He, his sons, and grandsons were even worse. Wouldn’t surprise me at all if it turns out a McGill was involved in all this.”

Matt’s eyebrows lifted at the angry tone in Johnson’s voice. “Sounds like you’ve had some run-ins with them. How come you never mentioned them before?”

“Because I made it clear to them that as long as I was chief of police, they needed to stay out of Marietta. They do.” Johnson let out a long breath. “But now they’re my problem again. Anyway, just saying you should follow up by talking to the old man and his grandson. Might be that’s where the scam occurred. Now, I’ve got to get back to this paperwork. Anything else?”

“Nope, that’s it. Thanks for the advice. I’ll let you know what I find out when I see you at the next county law enforcement meeting.” Matt left the office and headed for his cruiser. He pulled out a pad of paper from the glove compartment and made some notes. First, stop at the bank and talk to Ezra. Then tomorrow, over to the Morning Sun for a talk with Ed’s aunt and Bobby Lee McGill.

CHAPTER 8

Maude was waiting in the reception area when Matt arrived at Morning Sun the next day. He stomped his feet on the mat inside the front door to scrape off the packed snow. He’d awakened to wind and blowing snow and had spent a half hour shoveling the walkway to the garage before heading to the assisted living facility.

“Nice weather we’re having, huh?” Maude wheeled her way over to where Matt was signing in.

“Yep, perfect October weather,” Matt said with a grimace. “Nothing I like more than shoveling on October 15.” He swiveled the sign-in computer around so Jeannie, the young receptionist, could see it.

She nodded and wrote something in a large book on her desk. “Okay, you’re signed in,” she told Matt. “Ms. Kepler, the administrator, told me to ask you to come to her office when you arrived. Do you know where it is?”

“I’ll take him,” Maude said. She did a three-point turn with the wheelchair and began rolling toward the hallway on the left. As Matt followed, he heard Maude say—loud enough for Jeannie to hear—“Fool girl would probably end up in the men’s restroom trying to find Christine’s office.” Matt looked back at the red-faced receptionist and winked.

“I thought I was just meeting with you, Maude. Why are we meeting with the administrator?” Matt had to walk quickly to keep up with Maude’s rapid glide down the hall.

“There’s been developments,” Maude said. “Wait till you hear.” She slowed and stopped in front of a door. The sign beside the door read “Christine Kepler, M.S.N., Director.”

“Here we are.” Maude pushed the door open and proceeded into the room. The reception area was empty. “Christine! The police chief is here.”

The door to the office behind the reception area opened and a tall, robust woman with short blond hair stepped out. She was wearing scrubs. She advanced toward Matt. “I’m Chris Kepler, Chief Harper. Thanks for meeting with me. We’ve got more problems here than Maude’s theft, and I wanted to talk to you before deciding what to do. Please come into my office.”

Matt followed the administrator into the office, with Maude trailing behind. He stood looking at the décor in amazement. The room was neon green and decorated floor-to-ceiling with brightly colored tropical fish wallpaper. Burbling from a half dozen large fish tanks that lined two sides of the office provided soft background noise.

“You like Chris’s aquariums, Chief?” Maude had wheeled herself into the office and rolled up to one side of the desk centered in the middle of the room. “Some of us find it very calming in here—a refuge, you might say. Others say it drives them nuts, and they stay away.”

Chris Kepler laughed and gestured for Matt to take a seat. “I wanted to be a marine biologist at one time, and I love the ocean and marine animals. Saltwater fish are my hobby.” She smiled and went to one of the tanks. “This is the pride of my collection. A peppermint angelfish I just acquired a few weeks ago.” She pointed to a small coral and white striped fish. “I have several other rare species, but I’ve waited five years to get this one.” Christine stroked the top of the water and turned back to Matt.

“Now, why I needed to talk to you. It turns out two other residents here have lost money—in one case, a substantial amount—to the same scam as Maude. There may be more, and I’m going to talk to the residents over lunch today about what’s happening. I want them all to be aware and guarding their financial information.”

Matt pulled a small spiral notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “What are the names of the victims? And will it be possible for me to talk to them today? I should fill out a report so we can look at all three cases together.”

“Amelia Gunter and Jasper Hyland are the residents who’ve lost money.” She spelled out their names. “I was hoping you’d have time to meet with them. I’m worried that there may be other residents who’ve been victimized,” Chris said. Her face showed concern as she went on. “Unlike a nursing home, most of the people here don’t have cognitive issues, and they handle their own money. They’re paying out of pocket to live here, and most have some type of physical disabilities that require assistance with daily activities. But Medicare and Medicaid don’t cover many of the residential and personal care services we provide. If they run out of money, they have few options for assistance.”

“I understand, and we’ll do what we can to recover what they’ve lost,” Matt said, writing down the names. “I’d also like talk with Bobby Lee McGill today. Is he available?”

“He should be at lunch. I’ll introduce you.”

Maude had been listening intently. “I know Jasper is very upset, Amelia not so much. Her husband left her with a fortune. She’s already talked to her accountant and her lawyer.” Maude’s eyes crinkled. “She’s a terror, Amelia. Have fun talking to her, Chief Matt. It’ll be an experience.”

Chris smiled a bit. “Yes, you may find her challenging.” She took a deep breath. “This is really disturbing to me and to our residents. Here’s what I suggest. Why don’t Maude and I leave you here, and I’ll go find Jasper and bring him first. You can have some privacy that way. Also, would you be willing to stay for lunch and talk to our residents and staff about the situation and what can be done? Maude tells me you’ve already talked with her bank and found out their responsibilities for investigating.”

Matt agreed that meeting privately with the two victims was preferable. While he waited for the director to return, he called his office to let Agnes know he wouldn’t be back for several hours. He had just ended the call when Chris returned. A very tall, heavyset man in bib overalls and a flannel shirt accompanied her, leaning heavily on a walker. The man dropped into the other chair, beside Matt, and pushed the walker to one side.

The director introduced the two men and then left. Jasper reached out to shake Matt’s hand. “Glad to meet you, Chief. I saw in the paper you’d taken over for Mike Johnson.” There was a hoarseness and tremor in Jasper’s voice, and, Matt noticed, the man’s hands were trembling. “Kinda young for the head job, aren’t you?” Jasper leaned forward and peered at Matt. “Yep, young, for sure. Course nearly everyone looks like a kid to me these days.”

“I’ve been an officer for four years, Mr. Hyland. And trained at the police academy. There’s not a lot of serious crime in Marietta, as you probably are aware. To reassure you, though, I’ve already talked with Sheriff Johnson about the situation here, and he’s advising me.”

“Well, good. Makes me feel a little better.” The old man’s face crumbled. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. Whoever did this managed to pull over half my savings from my account in only two months. Twenty thousand gone. That’s near a half year of what they charge me here. I have Parkinson’s, and the doctors tell me it’s going to get worse. My kids live a thousand miles from here in L.A., and I don’t want to burden them. But I need a lot of help. Dressing in the morning, shaving, even to take a shower. I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t have the money to stay here. I feel like an old fool, falling for something like this.”

Matt looked away as Jasper roughly brushed tears from his cheeks. “It’s possible we can recover at least some of what was taken, Mr. Hyland. I need you to file a police report about the crime as a first step. Are you okay with that?”

“Sure. Whatever you need.”

A half hour later, Matt had recorded all the details that Jasper could recall. The man had learned about the animal shelter project from Maude. He’d filled out a form authorizing a one-time electronic transfer of $100. He’d been in the hospital shortly after that for a blood clot problem and didn’t get around to checking his bank statement for several weeks. By that time, two withdrawals for $10,000 had been made. “I called the bank right away and they halted the authorization. Told me it was submitted for $10,000—not $100—and to recur monthly. My bank, Ranchers’ Union over in Gillette, said they’re investigating.”

“According to what I’ve learned, the bank should be liable and have to return the stolen amount to you as long as you reported it within sixty days, Mr. Hyland. They have insurance to cover things like this.”

“Yeah, they told me that. But the first withdrawal was more than sixty days before I reported it, so I’ve lost that for good, I guess.” Jasper slumped in his chair.

Matt helped him up and waited as Jasper gripped the walker. “We’ll do what we can to find out who’s behind this. When we do, it’s possible that we may recover some of your money. I’ll keep you informed. Thank you for talking to me.” He stood as Jasper pushed the walker to the door.

“I’ll tell Christine that you’re ready to talk to Amelia,” the old man said. “I hope you’re able to find these guys. They’re probably doing this to other people too.”

Matt’s discussion with Amelia was brief. He was surprised when she stalked in and stood staring at him with a hostile expression. Amelia was medium height, medium weight, had tightly curled short gray hair, and wore a red cashmere sweater set, plaid wool skirt, and heels. Wire-rimmed glasses were hanging from jeweled chains. She stared at him a minute and then made it clear that she didn’t need any help from a young whippersnapper like him. She had a lawyer and an accountant working on recovering her money from the bank, and she had no interest in anyone knowing that she’d been scammed so she wasn’t going to file a police report. “I told Christine that, but she insisted I come here and tell you myself. So I’ve done that. And I don’t intend to talk further with you, or anybody, about this.” She turned and stalked out of the office.

Christine reappeared as Matt was completing his notes on the interview. She laughed when she saw Matt’s expression. “We did warn you about Amelia. She views herself as the queen of Morning Sun: smarter, richer, and on a higher plane than all the rest of our residents. It doesn’t surprise me at all that none of her kids visit or call. I think they’re just relieved to have her in a safe place and out of their lives.”

“Yeah, she’s something else. Did you find Mr. McGill? I would like to talk to him too. Since he’s the one who first told Maude about this fake animal shelter.”

“He’s not here, it turns out. One of his family picked him up this morning for an outing. His sign-out sheet said he’d be back tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’ll check back with you tomorrow and come back to interview him when he’s here. Now, you said something about lunch?”

“It should be ready. We eat in the common room. Roasted chicken, parsley potatoes, coleslaw, and a fruit salad for dessert. I’d like you to explain what’s going on and what the banks and police will be doing to recover the money and find the thieves. Reassure them and, maybe, also give them some advice about avoiding these types of scams in the future.”

The lunch was delicious. Matt enjoyed talking with the fifteen residents and answering their questions. The meeting went on for an hour after lunch was over, with a number of the attendees asking sharp questions and making suggestions. By the time the last person he left, Matt had developed an increased respect for both the staff and the residents he’d met. He had just left the building to head back to the coffee shop when he heard a loud “psst.”

Matt stopped and looked around to see where the noise had come from. He spotted a man hiding behind one of the columns that lined the overhanging porch that fronted the building. The man, bent over and leaning heavily on a cane, repeated the “psst” and motioned Matt to come over.

“You the chief?” The man tilted his head to look up at Matt when he approached.

Matt nodded and introduced himself. “I’m here investigating some thefts. Do you live here? I didn’t see you at lunch.”

“Ate in my room. I’m Jim Harrington. Lived here since 2010, so I know everything going on in this place.” He walked slowly toward one of the chairs lined up on the porch. “Gotta sit,” he wheezed. Matt followed and took the chair next to him.

“There’s more going on around here than some missing money,” Harrington said. “You should know that. A couple of the folks think one of the staff here is as crooked as a hog’s tail. You should look into him.”

“Who might that be, Mr. Harrington?”

“I can’t tell you. If he knew I was talking to you, I might find myself dead in my bed tomorrow morning. But you should look into who’s working here. I think he’s conspiring with one of the other staff—maybe the Boss Lady or one of the janitors or aides. Kepler’s been here less than two years, and this place has gone downhill since she arrived. Food’s deteriorated, things aren’t repaired. Bad management or something suspicious, maybe. All I know is there’s some sort of conspiracy going on, and the thefts are only the tip of the iceberg!” He looked toward the front door of the facility, his eyes narrowed, and he pushed himself up from the chair. “Get out of here now. If they see us . . .” Harrington began hobbling slowly toward the door. “Just remember what I told you. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

As the old man opened the door and went inside, Matt took out his notebook and wrote down “Jim Harrington.” Someone to ask Sheriff Mike about next time they talked. Matt shook his head as he walked to his cruiser and slid into the seat.

CHAPTER 9

Angie was kneeling on the floor of Nick’s apartment over the coffee shop, taping the last of the boxes with his belongings. She stood up and stared at the four book-size boxes on the floor. Not much for someone who’s lived here nearly a year. She moved to the desk and sat down to fill out the address labels. There was a clatter on the stairs as she finished the last label.

“Hey, Angie. Kassie told me you were up here. Need some help?” Matt stood in the doorway.

“Would you want to carry the boxes downstairs? UPS is supposed to pick them up tomorrow morning.”

“Will do.” Matt watched her affix the labels on each box. “Are you okay? I mean, I know you and Nick were close. It’s got to be hard—knowing he’s staying in Chicago to help his family.”

Angie sighed and brushed the hair off her forehead. “I miss him, yeah. He’s a great guy, but I was the one who was holding back from making a real commitment. You know my history. Three husbands, three divorces. I’m not certain I have the ability to be involved with someone on a long-term basis. I don’t know whether we’d have worked it out, over time. But now, I guess we’ll never know.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I bet his grandmother is already setting him up with some young, good-looking Greek girl.” She sank down on the bed and looked at Matt. “What about you and Kassie? Are you going to be able to keep 42 Investigations going without him?”

“We’re not sure. Nick called me and said he had a couple ideas for people we might be able to hire to do the insurance investigations and other cases that required legwork. I told him to send them by. If one of them looks good, we’ll probably try to keep the PI firm alive.” Matt picked up two of the boxes. “Come on downstairs. Kassie said she’ll make you a chai tea. I have a lot to fill you in on.”

Kassie placed a cup of tea in front of Angie, who took a seat at the back table, and brought a beer for Matt. At 5:30, the coffee shop was closed and Kassie sat down, kicked her shoes off, and rubbed one foot. “Long day. Seems like I didn’t have much down time. I’m glad my mom’s going to be back next week. Standing on my feet for eleven hours is really exhausting.” Kate, Kassie’s mother and Ed’s wife, was co-owner of the coffee shop. She’d been down in New Mexico for two weeks decorating and readying the house she and Ed had bought as their refuge for the worst winter months. “I think I’ll have to hire someone when Mom and Ed leave for New Mexico. I can’t do this six days a week for the months they’re gone.”

Matt dropped the last two boxes in the 42 Investigations office, the small room behind the coffee shop, and joined them at the table. He took a long pull on the Leinenkugel and put it down. “So, I talked to Mike about your advice column letter. He said you’re welcome to come down to his office and go through the old case files if you want to dig into what happened to the teacher who disappeared. I should warn you, though, the files are in about a hundred boxes in his storeroom, and none of them are labeled. Mike’s trying to organize the office’s filing system, but he says it’ll probably be a year before he gets back to the 1920s.”

“I might take him up on the offer when I have time. Ed said I should go over to the Marietta Museum to look through the old Times issues that are stored on microfiche. He’s sure that there would be stories about the disappearance. It would have been big news back then, especially since the son of the people she was staying with disappeared at the same time. I thought I’d do that tomorrow.”

“Mike said to tell you he was happy to hear the case you’re interested in is nearly a hundred years old,” Matt said, a smile on his face. “He doubts you can get kidnapped by whoever was responsible.”

“You do know the mafia, the militia, and the drug cartel would have been in this area without me, right? I’m not responsible for all the crime in this county!” Angie pointed a finger at Matt. “I’m just the excellent investigative reporter who helped to crack those cases!”

“I know, I know,” Matt said, laughing. “Mike just likes to tweak you over it.” He took another pull on the beer. “Anyway, I thought you might want an update on the animal shelter scam too.” He went on to describe what he’d learned about the banking laws and his meetings at the Morning Sun Assisted Living Home. “So, it looks like Maude and the others who were hit by the scammers may get back some of their money. I didn’t get to talk to Bobby Lee McGill, the resident at the facility who originally told Maude about the fundraiser for the fake animal shelter. He was away visiting family today, but I’ll catch up with him in the next day or so. Something interesting Mike told me about ol’ Bobby Lee. Apparently, his family has been in the county since the turn of the last century and has a criminal history in the past. Rustlers, bootleggers—that kind of thing. He thinks they’ve mostly gone straight over the last couple decades, but some of them are brawlers that he warned to stay out of Marietta. So if you’re going through the old papers at the museum, see if you find anything about the McGill family. It might be interesting history. Mike also said some past sheriff wrote a book about the McGills, and he thought the museum had a copy.”

###

The layout for the next edition was put to bed early on Friday. Angie decided to spend the last two hours of the day at the Marietta Museum to talk to the director and get started on operating the microfiche machine.

“Sam, I’m going to take the dogs for a quick walk then drop them off and go to the museum. I’ll be back before you leave.”

Sam nodded, intent on the articles she was reading on elder scams. “Okay. I’m going to finish up summarizing these stories for Ed to use in his next article on nasty ways crooks take money from old people. You wouldn’t believe some of these schemes. There’s one where scammers find information on Facebook about someone’s grandchildren who are teens or older. The scammer calls the grandparents and says he’s the grandson, he’s in another state, and just got arrested for having a small amount of marijuana. He puts someone else on the phone who says he’s a police officer. Person says the grandchild needs to pay a fine to get out and come home. Could grandpa wire $5,000 to him through Western Union? If he does, then they’ll drop the charges. When the grandfather agrees, the fake grandson comes back on and begs him not to tell his parents or anyone. It’ll just be a secret between them, right? So the grandfather arranges to send the money and doesn’t hear back from the fake grandson. Eventually, he finds out that the grandson never was in whatever state he claimed to be and was never arrested, but by that time the money’s long gone.” Sam shrugged. “Who knew all those postings on Facebook could be used to scam someone? And the scammers take advantage of the grandparents’ willingness to share a secret with their grandchild and not call the parents to check the scam out. Yikes, be careful what you put on the internet!” She waved a hand at Angie. “Anyway, I’ll finish this then do some filing. You go have fun with your hundred-year-old mystery. It’s always quiet on Friday afternoons.”

A half hour later, Angie reached the old Marietta schoolhouse where the museum was housed. The building had been erected in 1925 and restored in the late 1990s. The large sandstone blocks on the outside of the building shone pinkish-gold in the late afternoon light. A cupola rose from the top of the building, with a large bell showing through the open sides. She went up the stone stairs and pulled open the right side of the ten-foot polished walnut doors. The open area on the first floor had exhibits of fossils of sea creatures and dinosaurs and an extensive exhibit on the geology of the Black Hills and Devils Tower. Toward the back were the administrative offices. Angie headed in that direction, stopping twice to glance inside several rooms that held special exhibits and a small gift shop. Other than a woman sitting at the checkout counter in the gift shop, there were no other staff or visitors evident.

The museum director’s office door was closed, and Angie knocked before turning the doorknob. A distant “come in” sounded as she stepped into the office, which contained a desk and computer and stretched into darkness filled with metal shelves and filing cabinets.

“Mr. French? It’s Angie Kramer. From The Marietta Times.”

“Be right there.”

Angie heard shuffling and file drawers closing. A minute later, Buck French emerged from behind the third row of shelving. He was taller than Angie recalled from the few times she’d seen him at meetings, and his white bush of hair was disheveled. The wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose had slid down, and he pushed them up with one finger.

“Just doing some research on stagecoach lines from the early part of the last century. We’re planning a special exhibit next year on the evolution of transportation in this area and how it affected commerce.” Buck sat down at his desk. “How can I help you?”

Angie handed him a copy of the letter to the advice column. “I got this last week, and Ed told me you might be able to help me get some information.”

The museum director skimmed the letter then put it down. “I remember seeing something about this when I was going over old issues of the paper to find some obscure information on cattle rustlers. Other than that . . . I can’t tell you much.”

“What I was hoping is to take a look through the old issues of the Times. This was probably a big story when it happened, and maybe I can find some information to provide to the letter writer. If anyone had found the missing teacher or the missing young man who disappeared at the same time, I expect the newspaper would have reported it.”

“So you want to use the microfiche machine? Sure. Have you ever done that?” Angie shook her head. “Well, it’s not complicated, just time-consuming and hard on your eyes. It’s in the basement. Come with me.”

Buck led her back out into the hallway and down some old wooden stairs. The basement area was dimly lit with several doors opening off the long hallway. Buck stopped in front of the third door. “This is the microfiche storage room. I’ll show you how the reels are stored so you can find the ones you need, and I’ll show you how the machine works. There’s a printer, too, so if you find a page you want to copy, you can print it out. What’s the first year you want to look at?”

They entered the room, and Buck flipped a wall switch that illuminated a single ceiling light. A small table held a microfiche reader and a printer. A wooden straight-backed chair, with a small pillow on the seat, sat in front of the table. Other than the table and chair, the only furnishings in the room were eight-foot metal shelves filled with round metal containers. Buck went to the first metal shelf. “The Times reels are on this shelf. They’re in chronological order and marked with the years, so you should be able to find whatever years you’re interested in. Just be sure to put the reels back in the right order.” He plucked a container off the shelf. “Here’s 1923 and 1924.” He brought the reel container to the table and pried it open. After loading the reel into the microfiche reader, he showed Angie how to scroll through it, stop on specific pages, and print off whatever she needed. “Got it? Okay, we close at five. You have an hour and a half today, but feel free to come back anytime and pick up where you leave off. Just let me know when you do.” He chuckled. “I once had a professor from Gillette College get stuck here overnight because I locked up and went home not knowing he was down here.”

Angie sat down in the less-than-comfortable chair and began scrolling. An hour and a quarter later, her back hurt and her eyes were aching from peering at the screen that magnified the pages she was inspecting. She’d printed off five stories from the Times: an August 1923 story announcing the start of the school year that mentioned Maribelle Spencer as the new teacher at the Snow Prairie one-room school and the names of the year’s students at each of the county schools; two early-May 1924 stories about Maribelle’s disappearance and speculation about what had happened to her and the young man who had gone missing at the same time; a June follow-up story about Maribelle’s father’s visit and a reward he offered for information; and an August story about the start of the school year that mentioned Maribelle’s disappearance. Angie re-wound the reel and placed it in the container. After carefully re-filing it on the shelf, she put the printouts in her purse and went back to the main floor to let Buck French know she was leaving.

“Did you find what you needed?” Buck asked, pulling on his jacket.

“I made a start, but I’ll need to come back and look through a couple more years to be sure there weren’t any later stories about the investigation into the disappearances,” Angie said. “I wish there was a ‘search’ function that would let me quickly check for her name in the paper.”

“Yeah, I often wish there was too. But we don’t have the money or the tech people who can do that sort of work.” He escorted Angie to the front door of the building and opened it for her. “Just remember to let me know when you’re here.”

Back at the Times office, Sam was talking on the telephone. She held up a finger and said into the phone, “Oh, she’s back. Here, I’ll let you talk to her.” Sam handed the phone to Angie. “George Potts, that lawyer from the fathers’ rights group.”

Angie took the phone. “Hi, George. What can I do for you?”

“I’m just following up on our meeting last week. Did you have a chance to take a look at our website?”

“I did, and there was a lot of useful information on it. It looks like you’re doing some good things for men who’ve run into custody problems. I’ve also gone to some of the references you list and other websites from your list of resources. I’m persuaded that my response to the advice letter was superficial and ignorant. And I’m going to retract it in the next issue of the paper, which will include an apology to fathers—and mothers—I offended. As well as a ‘thank you’ to you and the other men who took the time to help me understand the issues.”

“Well, good. I’ll look forward to reading it,” George said. “And I want to invite you to attend one of our group meetings. They’re usually a combination of support group and action planning. It would be helpful to our cause to have some positive stories about the challenges fathers sometimes face when a hostile ex-wife and a mother-sympathetic judge try to bar them from having an active role in their children’s lives.”

Angie was silent for a moment, before saying, “George, as a reporter I can’t advocate for a cause. My role is to present the facts of a news event or story. So, while I can write about cases of injustice to fathers, to be fair I also must also present the other side. And there are two sides to this. There are some fathers, and some mothers, whom children need to be protected from.”

“Of course, I understand that,” George said, his voice soft. “I have a client waiting, so I have to go. But I’d like to talk to you more about this. Would you be willing to come to our meeting on Thursday night? Maybe come early and have dinner with me? That would give me a chance to tell you more about our group and our mission before the meeting.”

Angie agreed to meet Thursday night. After writing down the details, she hung up. “He’s definitely committed to his fathers’ rights work,” she told Sam, who had been listening avidly to Angie’s end of the conversation.

“Yeah, he is. He was telling me about some of the people he’s helped, before you got back,” Sam said. “Nice voice, nice person—I think.” She grinned at Angie. “And not bad to look at either.”

“Stop that!” Angie said, her voice sharp. “No trying to fix me up. I just want to lead a quiet peaceful life with my dogs.” She whistled for Bernie and Wrigley, who’d been sleeping under the desk in her office. “And that’s what I’m planning for the weekend. Quiet, peaceful, and playing with these two. See you Monday.”

Sam waved as Angie and the dogs left. She smiled as she saw them get in the truck. “Uh, huh. Quiet and peaceful.”

###

The Marietta Times

Oct. 17, 2019

Ask AK, Matt and the Grumpy Old Man

An apology to our readers and to all good fathers — from AK: Last week’s advice column had a letter from a woman who was debating whether it was necessary for her to tell a former boyfriend that she was pregnant with his child. Over the strong objections of Matt and the Grumpy Old Man, I advised the writer that it really was up to her whether to tell him. That was wrong — I was wrong.

I say that with a humble heart. A group of men who support fathers’ rights made the trek to our office the day after that column was released to tell me their stories — their sometimes heartbreaking stories. They are fathers who love their children, who are committed to being fathers, and who were denied the ability to be fathers by the courts or by former wives/girlfriends who refused access to their children. They provided me with well-done studies of the important role of fathers to the health and well-being of both sons and daughters, and the detrimental effect of the absence of fathers from children’s lives.

From a personal standpoint, I should have known this. My father died when I was a child, along with my mother. The trauma of losing both parents at the same time blinded me, I think, to what I missed — separately — from each of my parents. My father taught me to take risks. My mother taught me to be careful when I was bound to take risks. My father pushed me to think, to be logical. My mother taught me empathy and compassion. Both helped me learn how to navigate the world. I still miss them.

My answer in the advice column wasn’t appropriate — I didn’t think it through or do the research. And it wasn’t empathetic or compassionate. I apologize to men who are or will be fathers. And I apologize to women, those who know the importance of fathers to their children, and to those women who should know. I’ll try to do better in the future.

_________________________________________________________________

AK and Matt are an aunt-and-nephew team who are experts at solving all sorts of problems. The Grumpy Old Man is a Grumpy Old Man with strong views on nearly everything. Send your questions to them at The Marietta Times, and they’ll do their best to provide you with answers, which may (or may not) be helpful. Please note: We accept no liability if you act on any of our advice and it turns out badly.

CHAPTER 10

The world was white when Angie woke on Saturday morning. Over a foot of snow had fallen overnight, and it was still coming down. Big, fat flakes of snow drifted slowly past her bedroom window. She groaned and picked up her phone from the bedside table to check the weather. Thirty degrees at 8 a.m. and snow up to eighteen inches predicted. Only October 20 and snowing . . . and not for the first time. Why am I living where it snows year round? She put the phone down and sat up. Better get a path shoveled before it gets ahead of me.

Twenty minutes later, fortified with coffee and a cherry Pop-Tart, Angie pulled on her rubber boots, heavy coat, and gloves. Bernie and Wrigley were dancing around her, eager to join her outside. She sighed, opened the door, and picked up the snow shovel leaning against the deck railing. Wrigley ran ahead of her and leaped in the air, biting at the shovel load she lifted and tossed. Bernie raced around the yard, barking at a squirrel and leaving deep paw prints in the pristine snow. “You guys love this, don’t you?” Angie lifted another shovelful of snow. “You wouldn’t like it so much if you had to shovel.”

Wrigley joined Bernie at the squirrel tree. The two jumped and barked up the tree while the squirrel scolded them. Seconds later, they were wrestling in the snow, play-growling until Wrigley let out a sharp yelp. Bernie had nipped the girl dog’s ear and, startled, stepped backward. He hit a low-hanging branch covered in snow, which cascaded down on the two dogs. The dogs raced back to the deck, shedding snow as they went, and shook the rest of the snow off near Angie. Much of it landed on the path she’d shoveled, requiring her to turn around and clear it off. “You’re not helping, mutts.” Angie picked up a handful of snow and made a snowball. The dogs looked on, expectantly, then leaped to chase the snowball as she threw it at the tree. It splattered against the trunk, and Bernie and Wrigley pawed at the snow around the tree, then bounded to the deck, ready to play again.

“Nope. That’s it for now. I have to get the shoveling done before another foot falls.” Angie resumed shoveling, and the dogs retreated to the yard to reconnoiter. After finishing clearing the deck and a path to the driveway, Angie used a broom and a scraper to uncover the truck. She whistled for the dogs and escorted them inside, where she toweled both down before taking off her snow gear. “Now, another cup of coffee and the news.” She turned on the computer on her desk and poured a cup of coffee before sitting down and clicking on the icon for CNN. No internet. A call to her internet provider produced a recording: “We are aware that our services are temporarily interrupted. We hope to have services back within a few hours. We apologize for the delay. If you wish to leave a message, please press ‘1’ now.”

Angie sat back in the chair. “Damn, could this day get worse?” She picked up her phone and dialed the sheriff’s office. It rang five times before the sheriff, himself, answered.

“This is Mike Johnson.”

“Hi, Sheriff. This is Angie Kramer. Are you in the office all day today? I was thinking today would be a good time for me to come over and rummage through your old files.”

There was a long pause on the other end before Johnson answered. “You’re wanting to find that old case Matt told me about, right?”

“Uh-huh. 1924. Missing school teacher and young guy who disappeared at the same time.”

“Make you a deal. You can have access to the files, but you organize them by date as you go through the boxes. Nothing’s labeled, and, from what I can tell going through the more recent ones, there’s no sort of order—not chronological, not alphabetical, and not by type of case. If you’re willing to organize by date as you go through the boxes and mark each box with the date range, I’m happy to have the help.”

“It’s a deal,” Angie responded. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

“I’ll be here,” Johnson grunted. He hung up.

Angie looked at her dogs. “You’ve had your exercise for the morning. Be good, take a long nap, and I’ll take you out for a run later this afternoon.” She tossed them each a dog biscuit and put her winter gear back on.

A Marietta police cruiser was parked in front of the sheriff’s office. Angie pulled her pickup truck into the space beside it and eyed the cruiser closely as she got out. It was neat and clean inside. Not Bob or Red, for sure. No fast food wrappers on the floor. She pulled open the door of the office and went inside.

There was no one in the front office, but Angie could hear voices in the back. “Hello! Sheriff Johnson? I’m here. Can I come back?”

A door opened at the far end of the hall, and Matt leaned out. He motioned for her to come and ducked back inside. Angie moved quickly down the hallway, avoiding making eye contact with the two prisoners who were standing at the bars and looking curiously at her. One gave a wolf whistle as she passed and stretched his arm through the bars in an attempt to pat her bottom as she passed. Angie evaded his touch with a swing of her hips and pushed open the door to the room Matt had retreated to.

Inside, Sheriff Johnson and Matt were hovering behind a heavyset man who was squatting down in front of an ancient-looking safe. Angie recognized Pork Guterman, the locksmith. The door to the safe was open, and Angie leaned over to peer at what he was doing, carefully averting her eyes from the large gap between Pork’s sweater and his low-slung Levis. On one side of the interior of the safe were heavy metal shelves holding stacks of paper. The other side was covered by a door with a lock, which Pork was prodding with what looked like long, thin metal knitting needles.

“What’s he doing?” Angie turned to Matt, who was focused intently on the activity.

“Got it!” Pork swung the door to the interior safe open. He rubbed his knees and stood up. “Told you the lock picks would do it.” He stepped back with a grin and looked at the watch on his wrist. “And only took me fifteen minutes too!”

Matt looked at Angie. “You’re here for the great reveal. Lucky you. This old safe was in the basement of the sheriff’s office in the old building. Mike asked around and nobody knew anything about it or what was in it, so he had it moved over here and hired Pork to open it. Pork says it’s at least a hundred-years-old.”

“And why are you here?”

“Had to come over the for weekly county law enforcement meeting this morning. Mike told me Pork had gotten the outside safe door open yesterday, but there was a second safe compartment inside. He didn’t have the right equipment to open the inside safe but offered to come today and see if he could open it.”

Matt squatted down, next to Johnson, who was lifting a large burlap bag out of the safe.                             “Looks like this is all there is in here,” the sheriff said. He stood up and placed the bag on the top of the long table on the side of the room. “Let’s see what’s so important that it needed to be double-locked up.” Johnson pulled a knife from the scabbard he wore on his belt and sliced through the rope that tied the bag’s top.

When he pulled the top of the bag wide and looked inside, his face paled and he grunted.

“What is it?” Matt leaned forward and reached inside the bag, then pulled back abruptly. “Whoa, there! Is that a skull?”

Angie and Pork crowded closer, trying to see. Sheriff Johnson elbowed Matt aside and carefully lifted out a yellowed skull. Dirt clung to the empty orbital sockets, and two dried leaves fell to the floor. He reached inside again and pulled out a jawbone. More bones rattled in the bag, and the sheriff motioned the three onlookers back. He cleared stacks of papers from the top of the table, then began taking out bones and arranging them in the shape of a body.

“Looks like it’s a near-complete skeleton,” Johnson said, and he carefully placed individual ribs, femurs, and other bones in the approximate places where they belonged. He picked up one of the femurs and inspected it. “Fracture here.” He pointed at a jagged dark line running horizontally low on the bone. “Maybe he, or she, fell shortly before they died. No signs of healing.” He placed the femur back on the table and picked up the jawbone, which retained several teeth. “Good teeth, so probably someone young.”

“There’s another bag and some paper in the safe. I think it was behind the big bag, Mike,” Matt said. He pointed inside the safe.

Sheriff Johnson bent and retrieved the paper and a small burlap bag. The paper was yellowed, brown around the edges, and fragile. He read it quickly, then placed it carefully on top of a file cabinet. “Says these bones were found, buried about a foot deep, in an abandoned mine shaft. There’s a map indicating the spot. Looks like it’s close to Warren Peak—says ‘Bear Lodge Mountain’ on the map, and that’s what Warren Peak was called years ago. Whoever wrote this speculates that these are probably Indian bones. There used to be a lot of tribes around here—the Arapaho, Shoshoni, Cheyenne, and a few others.” He glanced at the note again. “Date of the note is July 22, 1935.” He bent over the note again. “The note is signed by Sheriff Everett Collins. I’ll have to check to see what records we have of him.”

“What’s in the bag?” Angie asked, and Matt and Pork nodded.

“Let’s see.” Sheriff Johnson cut the tie from the small burlap bag and opened it. He tipped the bag upside down, and a few scraps of cloth, a dozen small bone buttons, and a ring dropped to the table. The ring was nearly black with tarnish, but it appeared to be silver and had a small blue stone. Johnson picked it up and tried it on his pinky finger. “I’m guessing this is a woman’s ring. If it belonged to the skeleton here, that makes the person female, I guess.”

“Or it could be whoever this is had a ring he intended to give to a woman,” Matt said. “Young guy might have had a sweetheart.”

“Boy howdy!” Pork’s eyes were wide. “This is just like a detective story! I can’t wait to get home and tell my wife.”

The sheriff saw the look of consternation on Angie’s face. “I know what you’re thinking, Angie. You think this might be the body of that young woman who disappeared in the 1920s, right?”

“Right,” Angie said, her voice sad. “It must be her. The time frame is right—she disappeared in 1924, and these bones were found within a few miles of where she was living. You’re saying the bones are probably from a young person, and she was only nineteen. And there’s a woman’s ring with the bones. Who else could it be?”
“Could be a young Indian woman, could be a young man who happened to have a girl’s ring in his pocket. We need a lot more information before we can say anything conclusively,” Johnson responded. “And I don’t want to read in The Marietta Times next week that we’ve found the missing girl. You’d just be giving false hope to the people who wrote to you.”

“I won’t do that, Sheriff. But this is a great news story. Any reason I can’t report on your finding the bones locked in the old safe?” Angie glared at the sheriff.

“No problem with that. I’ll even give you a copy of the note with the bones, so you can quote it accurately.” Johnson slid the fragile note onto a piece of cardboard, took it to the copier, and pushed a button. He handed the copy to Angie.

“Thanks,” Angie said, folding the paper and slipping it into her purse. “What do you intend to do with the bones? What about a DNA test? I could ask the woman who wrote me to submit a DNA sample so we could check for a familial match.”

“I’ll talk to the state crime lab and see if they’ll do a forensic medical exam. That should tell us more about how the person died, and also the gender and age.” Johnson shook his head. “I’m not sure they can do a DNA test on such old remains, but I’ll ask about that too.”

“Great! Now, can you point me to the old case files? I’ll get started looking for 1924 records,” Angie said. She held up her right hand, three fingers extended and thumb and little finger down. “Scout’s honor, I’ll organize your cases as I go!”

Johnson smiled. “Noted. This way to the file room.” He led Angie out of the office and turned left. Two doors down, across from an empty jail cell, he opened a door. “This is it. I’ll be here till five and then one of my officers will be on duty. Stay as long as you like.” He guffawed when he saw the dismayed look on Angie’s face. “Good luck!”

Angie stared at the file room. Dozens of boxes were stacked five high. The floor was covered with loose files, and papers were scattered at random on the floor and on top of boxes. The windowless room was painted dark olive, and a single forty-watt bulb hung from the ceiling. She took a deep breath and sneezed. Dust swirled into the air as Sheriff Johnson closed the file room door. She could hear him laughing and talking with Matt and Pork as he walked away. She collapsed to the floor, folded her legs, and opened the closest box.

She’d just pulled a handful of files from the second box when Matt opened the door and stuck his head in. “Having fun yet?” He winked at her. “Anything you need?”

Angie pushed back the strand of hair that covered her forehead and one eye. A long dust streak marred her cheek. “I can hardly breathe in here, my back hurts, my knees hurt, and I keep sneezing. And I’m only through one box. Any suggestions?”

“Uh, I can leave the door open. Maybe that will help,” Matt said, frowning. “You really should be wearing latex gloves. There are probably booklice and silverfish in these old papers.”

“Lice?” Angie shrieked and jumped to her feet. “There’s lice?”

“Well, not people lice. Booklice. I don’t think you have to worry about them personally, but you probably want to take a shower and wash your clothes in hot water after you get home. Otherwise, they might infest your bookshelves. You want me to bring you gloves and a face mask? I have some out in my cruiser.”

Angie was scratching her arms, red welts rising. “Yes! Please! And leave the door open too.” She bent down and began scratching her legs. “Dammit, now I’m itching all over!”

Matt was back in a flash. He handed her the gloves and a face mask. “These should help some. But do me a favor. Shower and change your clothes before you come over tonight, okay?”

Angie nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll probably have scrubbed the top layer of my epidermis off. See you at six?”

“Yep, see you then. I’m making elk steaks on the grill. Ed cleared out his freezer for his new bounty, so I have plenty.”

Two hours later, Angie gave up for the day. She’d only gotten through six of the boxes, and none were from the 1920s. She marked the dates on each box, stacked the boxes on one side of the room, gathered up all the files and loose papers on the floor, and organized them by decade. Ready to go for tomorrow, if this place is open tomorrow.

Sheriff Johnson was sitting at the reception desk in the front office. “Find anything useful?” He smiled at her disheveled appearance.

“Not yet. Is the office open tomorrow? Can I come back and keep looking?”

“Someone will be here. I’ll leave a note telling whoever is here that you have permission to go through the files.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Angie said, her voice rueful. “This is a bigger job than I expected, but maybe I’ll find the case file tomorrow. Otherwise, I’ll probably come back next weekend.” Angie waved at the sheriff and went out to her truck.

###

Dinner and a doggie playdate at Matt and Kassie’s house that night was relaxing and a welcome change from the dusty file room. Bernie, Wrigley, and Fergie provided entertainment, excited at seeing each other again and wrestling, chasing, and generally wearing themselves out. Kassie and Angie lounged on the deck chairs, bundled up against the cold, while Matt ran the grill and cooked the elk steaks to perfection—blackened on the outside and pink on the inside.

After dinner and tiramisu for dessert, Angie leaned back in her chair and took a sip of the white wine Kassie served. “I may never eat again! Way too much, but it was too good to leave anything on my plate.”

“Are you going back to the file room tomorrow?” Matt asked.

“Yeah. I don’t have anything else on my schedule,” Angie said. “It’s taking me a long time to go through each box. I can’t resist skimming the files as I go: horse rustlers, cattle rustlers, claim jumpers—even a couple murders. This was a pretty rough place back in the day.”

Matt smiled. “Yep, the Old West was like that. It’s really tame now compared to then.” He lifted his glass of wine. “Even with you bringing all the crime to the county!”

Kassie raised her glass too. “To no more white supremacists, drug cartels, or other evildoers. I like my soon-to-be husband without any bullet holes in him.” She set her glass down and leaned toward Angie. “Have you heard from Nick? You must miss him. The two of you were together doing something nearly every weekend.”

“I do miss him. And, no, I haven’t heard from him for a couple days. His dad was still in the hospital recovering from the heart surgery. But Nick thought he’d be released by today.” Angie’s face was somber. “I don’t think he’s coming back anytime soon. He’s taking over running the restaurant, at least till his father recovers. And he said that might not be for six months or more.” She stared at her wine glass. “I miss him. And it makes me sad. But . . .”

Kassie and Matt were silent.

“But it probably wouldn’t have turned into a permanent relationship, anyway. Nick wants a wife and children—the house with the picket fence and flower beds—and I think I’ve proven that I’m not equipped to be what he wants.” She lifted her wine and drained the remaining inch. “Anyway, I guess that leaves me with the time I need to be a true investigative reporter! Which includes an early start on going through those files tomorrow.” She stood up. “This has been a great evening. Exactly what I needed. But it’s time to go home and get a good night’s rest. Thank you for the elk steaks and the company.” Angie whistled for Bernie and Wrigley and went inside to get her coat.

Matt and Kassie looked at each other. “I really hope she finds someone, even if it’s not Nick,” Kassie said. “She’s a great person. She just needs to get over her last disastrous marriage.” She looked at Matt somberly. “That Farhad character was really a bad one.” Angie had landed in Marietta after fleeing Chicago when her husband had physically abused her and threatened worse if she left him. Farhad had tried to steal Bernie to punish her and had then put her through extended legal hell before she was finally granted a divorce.

“And the two before that one weren’t much better,” Matt said. He stood up and hugged Kassie. “She deserves to be as happy as we are.”

CHAPTER 11

Matt was making espressos for a customer when Angie stopped by after the dog training class on Monday morning. He looked up from his task as she joined the order line and asked, “How did the training go today?”

“It went well. Fergie is finally catching on now that Kassie’s taken over from you,” Angie said. She smirked at Matt. “You just must not have that confident and authoritative voice that the dog training books say is important to helping your dog respond.” She moved up to the counter as Matt handed an espresso to the person in front of her. “I didn’t know you had talents as a barista. Apple fritter and a cappuccino, please.”

“Coming up.” Matt pulled the fritter from the case and put it in a paper bag. “Kate’s still out of town, so I told Kassie I’d cover the counter while she does the dog training. At this point, making coffee is a more rewarding activity than dog training. At least people pay me for the coffee.” He looked up, a wry grin on his face. “I just hate to admit defeat. Fergie is a great dog, but she seems to think I’m speaking a foreign language when I tell her to do something.” He shook his head. “I did the first three training sessions, and Fergie still wouldn’t ‘sit’ when I told her to. So I gave up and let Kassie take over.”

“She said to tell you she was going grocery shopping and will be here in about an hour. So what are you doing the rest of today?”

“Working, unfortunately. I have to head north to the McGill place. I need to interview Bobby Lee McGill about the animal shelter scam at the Morning Sun. Everyone I’ve talked to so far says he’s the one who told them about the fake animal shelter fundraiser and gave them the information to donate to it.”

Angie frowned. “I thought he lived at the Morning Sun facility.”

“He does. Still has an apartment there. But the administrator said he sometimes goes home for a week or more. She thinks that’s where he is, and I don’t want to wait any longer to find out what he knows. I called up there, and Lucas McGill said the old man was there and would be happy to talk to me this afternoon.”

Angie picked up the cappuccino and fritter from the counter. “Hey, can I go? I’ve been reading through the old papers at the museum, and the McGill family members were real hell raisers around here back in the teens and twenties of the last century. And a couple of McGill kids were in Maribelle Spencer’s classroom. I’d like to talk to Bobby Lee, too, to see if he recalls any mention of Maribelle and her disappearance.”

“He’s only in his eighties, I think. He wasn’t even born then. Why do you think he’d know anything? Besides, I’m interviewing him on police business. Taking you along makes it look like I’m encouraging him to talk to you.” Matt shook his head emphatically.

“How about I follow you up there? Separate vehicles? And you can disavow any knowledge of me? I promise not to even mention I know you. Besides, if I don’t go now, I’ll go later. If you think McGill is involved in something crooked, wouldn’t you rather I follow you up there than go all by myself?”

Matt looked at her and frowned. “Playing the ‘danger to Angie’ card, huh? All right, you can follow me up there. And after I finish interviewing him, I’ll wait on the road a mile south to make sure you’re okay after you talk to him. Now I have customers to serve. If you’re not back here by one o’clock, you can find your own way up there.”

###

The drive up to the McGill ranch, fifteen miles south of the Montana border, took over an hour and a half. Angie followed Matt’s cruiser closely, not sure she could find the place if she lost him. At Hulett, Matt turned onto New Haven Road, following it northwest to Goldie Divide, and then turned off onto a rutted dirt road. It started snowing lightly as they bumped over the rough road. Angie shifted into four-wheel drive and turned on her windshield wipers. Matt was pulling farther ahead of her, and she flashed her brights at him. He slowed until she caught up. The pines were thick along the road, branches nearly touching the top of Angie’s truck. Her hands were glued tightly to the steering wheel, and her eyes swiveled in the dim light, watching for deer or other animals. Finally Matt’s turn signal indicated a left ahead. When she followed him into the turn, he had stopped on the side of the narrow road.

Angie pulled up beside him and lowered her window. “What’s up?”

“This is the road into the McGill ranch, it’s about a mile on. You stay here for a half hour. If I’m not back by then, drive up to the house. I’ll be surprised to see you, okay?”

“Okay. But what if someone comes in or out of this road and sees me? It’d be weird if I’m just parked here waiting.”

“If someone comes and stops to ask what you’re doing, just tell them you’re looking for the McGill place. If it’s a McGill, you can follow them to the house. Otherwise, wait a half hour.” Matt rolled up his window, waved, and pulled ahead.

Thirty minutes later, Angie put her truck in gear and slowly proceeded up the rugged driveway. When she was part of the way, she began to see signs on trees: Private Property. No Trespassing. No Hunting—Private Property. Well, at least they don’t say trespassers will be shot on sight, Angie thought as she exited the thick trees into a cleared area. Ahead, she could see a log home and a half dozen outbuildings. The house was huge, with two wings, a covered porch extending across the entire front of the main house, and a second floor porch above. A log-sided garage with five bays was to the left of the house, and several outbuildings were visible in the distance. She drove through log posts with a cross-piece sign announcing “The McGill Ranch—est. 1895” – and parked beside Matt’s vehicle.

Angie climbed the steps to the ten-foot-high double doors and pulled the cord that dangled on one side. The opening bars of Steppenwolf’s “Born to be Wild” rang out. She heard footsteps on the other side of the door, and seconds later it was opened by one of the largest men Angie had ever seen. He was well over six and a half feet tall, with bulging muscles beneath a black T-shirt and stretching the thighs of the sweatpants he wore. His eyes were nearly black, pupils merging with the irises, and the lower half of his face was covered with a dense black beard that stretched to the middle of his chest.

“Can I help you?” Angie was startled at the man’s high-pitched voice, almost like a little girl’s. For a moment, she stood gawking at him.

“Uh, yes. I’m Angie Kramer, editor of The Marietta Times. I’d like to speak with Mr. Bobby Lee McGill, if he’s here.”

The man looked down at her. “Wait here, please, ma’am. I need to get Mr. Lucas.” The door was gently closed in Angie’s face. When it re-opened, a normal-sized middle-aged man, wearing a light tan sports jacket, jeans, and well-worn boots, smiled at her. He brushed back a lock of the curly beige hair that drooped over his forehead.

“Angie Kramer, huh? I’m Lucas McGill. Come on in. My uncle is talking with a police officer right now. But if you want to wait until they’re done, I’m sure he’ll want to talk to you.” He opened the door wide and indicated she should come in. The foyer stretched up to the second floor of the house. On one wall, a buffalo hide was the prominent décor. On the other, there were a number of American Indian paintings of battle scenes that, apparently, the Indians were winning based on the large number of white men in blue uniforms with arrows protruding from their bodies. The floor of the foyer was highly polished parquet and covered by a large Southwestern-patterned rug.

“You like Native art? Wait till you see the art in the parlor,” McGill said. “Come this way. You want a cup of coffee? Something stronger?” He escorted her into a small room that was lined floor-to-ceiling with filled bookcases. Two comfortable leather armchairs sat in a central position, and an antler chandelier hung overhead.

“No, thank you, to the coffee,” Angie said. Her head was swiveling as she tried to read the titles of books on the shelves. Law, economics, and business books dominated one shelf. Dickens, Shakespeare, Orwell, Huxley, and other English writers were prominent on another.

“Please sit down. I’m not sure how much longer it will be.” McGill took one chair and waved Angie to the other. “So you’re AK, aren’t you? Angie Kramer. I read your advice column every week. We all love it, especially the Grumpy Old Man. Gotta say, I agree with him a lot. Your advice is solid usually, though you did miss the mark with your answer about telling the boyfriend he’s about to become a father.”

Angie blushed at the mention of her screw-up on the fathers’ rights column. “I did apologize for that one, you know. Men do have a right to know and to be involved in their child’s life. If they want to, anyway. I’ve been educated by the fathers’ rights movement, and I can admit when I’m wrong.” She paused, then added, “I’m glad you enjoy the advice column. It’s one of the things I look forward to writing every week.” She looked around the room. “This is quite a place you have here. I never would have guessed there was a house like this way out here in the county.”

McGill patted her hand. “We do keep to ourselves, but my family’s been here for over 120 years. My great-great-great . . . many more greats . . . grandfather landed in South Carolina on a prison ship back in 1682. Family made its way north over the next two centuries till my great-great-grandparents settled here and homesteaded around 1895. We’ve been here ever since.” He raised his eyebrows and grinned at Angie. “From the look on your face, I expect you’ve heard some stories about the McGills.”

Angie grinned back. “I’ve read some of the old newspaper stories. Something about cattle rustling, stagecoach holdups, claim jumping?”

“Yep, the oldsters were sure a rowdy bunch. Kind of cool to have characters like that in the ancestry. Today, we’re just regular law-abiding folks. My father willed me the ranch when he died. There aren’t too many of us McGills left here now that my sons headed for the bright lights of Denver and Seattle. Just me, Bobby Lee, and J.P. Bobby Lee’s my great-uncle and the only one of that generation left. And J.P. is Bobby Lee’s grandson. His father was killed in a construction accident. His mother couldn’t handle him and sent him to live with his grandfather when he was sixteen. We ranch a few Black Angus and keep a fine string of horses that we rent out to stud and for rodeos, but our main source of income isn’t the ranch. Both of my boys has degrees in computer science, one from MIT and the other from Stanford. We operate a call center that provides customer service for several large software companies. Currently, we employ nearly thirty people.”

Angie’s surprise showed on her face. “Really? Where do you find people to hire out here? I doubt there are that many IT trained people in the whole county.”

“Most of our workers are off-site. There’s no need to have them in one place for the kind of work they do. But we do have a small call center here with five people. One of our outbuildings is the home base for McGill Technical Solutions.”

“Interesting. Maybe I can do a story about your business for the Times. Most people don’t have any idea there’s a tech business operating around here. They’d probably be interested.”

“Maybe so.” McGill stood as the very large man Angie had seen earlier appeared in the doorway. “Is the police officer finished talking to my uncle, Alvin?” The large man nodded. “Okay, let’s take you to meet Bobby Lee. I didn’t ask you, but why do you want to talk to him?”

Angie stood up. “There’s a woman in Minnesota who asked me to look into a missing relative who disappeared here in the northern part of the county, way back in the 1920s. I know your uncle isn’t old enough to have known her, but since your family was here at the time I’m hoping he may have heard stories about the case. A long shot, I know.” She followed McGill down a hallway and into a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall. The view was astounding—a manicured English-style garden stretched for a half-mile, with snow-covered rolling hills and pine trees in the distance. The walls of the room were covered with paintings of Native scenes and activities. Shelving displayed statues of buffalo and antelope. A dozen antique guns were mounted on the walls above the shelves, and several Navajo rugs were layered across the polished planks of the floor.

“This is the parlor I mentioned,” McGill said. “And this is my great- uncle, Bobby Lee McGill.”

The old man was seated in a reclining chair, feet up. His thinning white hair was combed straight back from a widow’s peak, and he wore neatly pressed khaki pants with a white shirt open at the neck. A black cane with a carved buffalo head top rested beside his chair. He lowered the footrest and extended one hand. Angie walked over to him and put her hand in his.

“I’m happy to meet you, Mr. McGill,” Angie said.

“Call me Bobby Lee, honey,” the old man said, his voice gravelly. “Don’t often get pretty girls visiting me. This is a treat.” He glowered at Lucas, his thick eyebrows bristling. “Especially since this one kidnapped me from Morning Sun. Haven’t had a bit of fun with the ladies in a week. Sit, sit.”

Angie sat on one edge of the sofa closest to Bobby Lee’s chair. She looked back and forth between Bobby Lee and Lucas, who had an exasperated expression on his face.

“Bobby Lee, you know we didn’t kidnap you! You have had three doctor’s appointments in Billings this past week, and it’s closer for us to drive you from here.”

“Doctors? Pshaw! I don’t need no stinkin’ doctors,” Bobby Lee retorted. He winked at Angie. “Do I look like I need doctors, girly? I could do a hundred push-ups right now, if you want me to show you.” He put his hands on the arms of the chair to pull himself up.

Angie laughed. “No, Bobby Lee. I’m sure you can, and you don’t have to show me.” She leaned over and patted his arm as he sank back into his chair. “I’m just here to ask you a few questions about something that happened a long time ago. Is that okay with you?” At the old man’s nod, she described the letter she’d received. “I’ve looked at the old newspaper reports, and Maribelle Spencer was a teacher at the Snow Prairie School, which isn’t far from here. And the list of students she had includes Andy McGill, who was in sixth grade, and Anna McGill, in seventh grade. I know this was before your time, but I’m wondering if you heard anything about the case from your parents or brothers and sisters. Was Andy one of your cousins? Or an uncle, maybe?”

Bobby Lee stared into space for a moment then looked hard at Angie. “Are you accusing someone in my family of something?”

“No, not at all. It’s just that your family is the only one I’ve found that was here at the time and still has relatives in the area. Andy McGill was only about eleven years old at the time. Of course I’m not suggesting he or Anna had anything to do with the disappearance. Really, I’m just asking if you heard any stories about a teacher going missing, and if there was any speculation about where she went.”

“Well, Andy died when he was in his twenties. Got stomped by a mean bull. And I don’t know nothing else about him.” Bobby Lee sank back in his chair and closed his eyes. “I’m tired, Lucas. Tell her to leave.”

Lucas stepped closer to Angie as a soft snore emerged from the old man. “I’m sorry. He often drifts off like this. I’ll walk you to the door.”

Matt’s cruiser was parked near the turnoff to the ranch. Angie pulled up next to him and rolled down her window. “Quite a character. He was charming and funny, until I asked him about the missing teacher. Then he got mad, and after that he either went to sleep or pretended to,” Angie said.

“You got more than I did. He was talking about angels coming to steal his horses when I was there. Couldn’t get him to make any sense at all. Lucas says he’s in early stages of Alzheimer’s, something about sundowner syndrome. Which seems to mean that later in the day, he’s not in touch with reality. Lucas said maybe I’d be able to interview him more effectively if I came back earlier in the day. Wasted trip for both of us, I guess.”

“Or else Bobby Lee is pretty good at faking it to avoid being questioned,” Angie said. “I’ll follow you back to the main road, okay? Otherwise, I’ll get lost and end up in Montana.”

CHAPTER 12

“Aunt Maude, stop!” Ed reached for the handles of the electric wheelchair his aunt was driving, but she swerved and evaded him.

“If you won’t take me, I’ll get to the bank on my own,” Maude said over her shoulder as she accelerated down the sidewalk toward the street.

“It’s eight blocks. And there aren’t any sidewalks for part of the way.” Ed was rushing to keep up. Behind him, Jeannie, the Morning Sun receptionist, was fluttering her hands, unsure what to do. “You! Whatever your name is! Call security. Now!” At Ed’s shout, Jeannie turned and dashed inside.

Ed finally got one hand on the wheelchair and slowed it down. “Look, I’ll drive you, okay? But I’m telling you, Ezra can’t do anything. The rules say the bank’s not responsible for losses over sixty days. He feels bad about it, but those are the rules.”

Maude lifted her foot off the accelerator and touched the brake. “So take me there.”

The assisted living’s security guard arrived as Maude said this, Jeannie trailing behind him. He put a hand on Maude’s wheelchair. “This is Herman’s chair, Maude. What are you doing with it?”

“He offered it to me, Phil. Switched chairs with me and told me to make a break for it.” Maude turned the wheelchair around and looked at the building. “See, there he is, watching us.” She waved and smiled as an elderly man in one of the windows waved back.

“Well, let’s go inside and sort this out,” Phil said. He nodded at Ed and followed Maude. She got to the front door, punched the wheelchair button, and the door slowly opened. Once they were all inside, the guard went to retrieve Herman, who was sitting in Maude’s non-motorized wheelchair.

After the wheelchair switch, Maude glared at Ed. “Eddie, let’s go to the bank now. I’m going to tell that Ezra what’s what! Then you’re taking me to the Nugget for lunch.” Ed sighed and pushed her wheelchair out the front door. As he trundled it toward his truck, a black Mercedes-Benz C class sedan with darkened windows pulled into the driveway.

“Stop, Eddie. That’s Bobby Lee’s car. I want to say ‘hi’ and ask him about his no-good grandson who got me into this mess.” Maude pointed at the Mercedes now parked in a handicapped space near the building.

The car door opened and Bobby Lee McGill emerged, leaning on his cane. He spotted Maude and Ed and walked toward them. “How’s the prettiest girl in Marietta? Maude, my dear, are you going on a date? I’m jealous!” Bobby Lee leaned down and kissed Maude on the cheek. He stood and extended a hand toward Ed. “Hi, Ed. Good to see you again.”

The two men shook hands. “Howdy to you, Bobby Lee. You’re looking good today. Thought you were out on some health issues. We’re on our way to the bank. Maude is upset with Ezra about the amount the bank will reimburse for her stolen money,” Ed said.

“Yes! That’s where we’re going,” Maude interjected. “And I want to know where that grandson of yours is—the one that told you about the fake animal shelter that I lost my money to.” She gave Bobby Lee a sharp look. “And don’t go telling me you don’t know! You’ve been up north with your family for the past week. Did you see that boy, ask him about the animal shelter scam?”

Bobby Lee took Maude’s hand. “I did, Maude. And I did ask him where he got his information.” His face was grave. “Unfortunately, he was scammed too. Took him for $300. Some girl he met at the Coyote Nickel a couple months ago is where he heard about it. Those two were hot and heavy for a few weeks. She got him to donate $100 and kept telling him about all the poor sad animals her group was wanting to help. Then she just up and disappeared, and he discovered money was missing from his bank account, more than he’d donated. Just like happened to you.” He stroked Maude’s hand. “I’m so sorry I was the one responsible for you—and the others here—losing money. I’d pay you back myself, except Lucas had me declared incompetent to handle my own money. And he’s tight with the purse strings.”

Maude’s eyes softened, and she squeezed Bobby Lee’s hand. “I know you didn’t intend all this to happen. Eddie and I will go see Ezra, and I swear that bank will refund my money or . . . or something. Don’t you worry about it.” She watched as Bobby Lee hobbled slowly toward the front door, turned, and blew her a kiss.

“Let’s go, Aunt Maude.” Ed opened the front passenger door of his truck and helped her out of the wheelchair and onto the seat. He folded the wheelchair and slipped it into the back seat. Ed got in the truck and turned the ignition key, then asked, “What’s with you and Bobby Lee? He blows you kisses?”

Maude’s cheeks turned red. “Aww, that’s just his way. Always flirting with the girls. And we like it!” She smiled. “I like it. If I was ten years younger, I’d set my cap for him.”

Ed shook his head, mentally, and drove to the bank.

###

“Hey, Ed. I thought you weren’t coming in today.” Angie got up from her desk, where she’d been working on a story about the county’s latest budget crisis and potential for tax increases, and went into the front office where Sam was standing at the files with a stack of papers.

“I wasn’t. I had the day laid out to work on cleaning the garage. But the administrator at Aunt Maude’s residence called me and said there was a problem. When I got there, Aunt Maude was in an electric wheelchair and trying to get out the door so she could go to the bank and give Ezra a piece of her mind. I tried to convince her it wasn’t a good idea, but she managed to get out the front door and was heading down the street when I caught up with her.”

“Feisty, isn’t she,” Angie said. “I hope to be just like that when I’m her age.”

Ed scowled. “Well, you’re Matt’s aunt. I hope he knows what’s ahead for him.”

Sam had been listening with a broad grin on her face. “So did you take her to the bank?”

“I did, and it was quite a scene, I’ll tell you. She rolled into the lobby and demanded to see Ezra—‘that pipsqueak who doesn’t know a horse from a zonkey’—and then laid into him about telling her the bank’s insurance only covers fraud losses up to sixty days. She accused him of lying, at the top of her voice, then tried to get into the cashier’s area so she could reimburse herself for the amount the bank won’t cover. By this time, there was a crowd watching and egging her on. Fortunately, she couldn’t get the wheelchair past the narrow door that enclosed the cashiers. She finally gave up, wheeled up to him, and slammed the foot rests of her wheelchair into Ezra’s shins. He was jumping up and down and yelling. The customers were clapping—several took video on their cellphones, in case you want a picture for the paper—and Aunt Maude put her hand under his chin and shouted that she was ninety-two years old and the bank owed her that money for being a loyal customer for sixty years! It was a sight to see.” Ed was guffawing as he related the last of the story. “It really was! Then she told the customers they should all transfer their money to another bank, since this one lets people steal your money. Ezra fled to his office and slammed the door, and one of the customers passed a hat to raise some money to help Aunt Maude.” Ed collapsed into the chair by his desk. “Aunt Maude took the money they gave her, thanked them, and crowed to me—once we were back outside—that lunch was on her. We had lunch at the Nugget, and she paid.”

Angie was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down her face. “I like your aunt,” she gasped.

Sam was giggling. “Me too!”

Ed looked at them in disgust. “Try being the helpful relative who has to contain an old woman with a hair up her ass! I didn’t know whether to laugh or slink away denying all knowledge of this person. Ezra will probably never speak to me again. Anyway, I took her back to assisted living and got her settled in her apartment.” He frowned. “I met that Bobby Lee McGill who was the one to start all this. He showed up, in a Mercedes, just as we were about to leave for the bank. He’s a slick one, very charming. Kissed Aunt Maude’s hand and apologized for the problem she was having. Apparently, all the ladies in the facility love him.”

Angie stopped laughing. “Really? He’s back at the Morning Sun? Matt and I were up at the McGill Ranch on Saturday to talk to him. Matt wanted to see what he knew about the scam and the McGill boy’s role in it. But Bobby Lee wasn’t making any sense, and his nephew, Lucas, said the old man has Alzheimer’s. I tried to talk to him too. I thought he might have heard family stories about the teacher’s disappearance since there were two McGill students in Maribelle’s classroom. But Bobby Lee became agitated, thinking I was accusing his family of having something to do with the disappearance. Then he fell asleep and started snoring. What you’re saying doesn’t sound like someone with Alzheimer’s.”

Ed shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. He was driving himself, recognized Maude, and was very lucid. You might want to tell Matt that Bobby Lee’s back and sure didn’t show any signs of mental problems when I saw him.”

“I’ll do that,” Angie said. “I told Matt I thought maybe Bobby Lee was faking it. Sounds like I was right.”

CHAPTER 13

“Angie, phone call.” Sam waved the receiver at Angie, who picked up the phone in her office.

“Hello, this is Angie Kramer.”

“Ms. Kramer, this is Izzy Spencer Havens . . . the one who wrote you about my great-grandmother’s missing sister?”

“Oh, yes. I was hoping to hear from you.”

“Well, I’ve been traveling for the last two weeks. I just got home last night and found your letter asking me to contact you. Do you have any news for us?”

“Not much. I’ve done some research and found a few references to the missing person’s case in our files. And I also have looked for the case in the local sheriff’s old files. There’s not much more than the information you already have, but I’ll be happy to make copies and send them to you.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Izzy said. “Anything new is going to be of interest to my great-granny.” She paused, then went on. “She just told me she has Maribelle’s diary. Apparently, her father brought it back when he went to Wyoming to gather her belongings. She says it’s in a trunk in the attic of her house. If I can find it, would you want to take a look? See if it provides any more information?”

Angie said up straight, her eyes wide. “Yes! There might be clues to what happened in it. How soon can you get it to me?”

“I can scan it and email it to you,” Izzy said. “Assuming it’s where Granny said, I can do that tomorrow.”

“Wonderful! I’ll look forward to reading it. I have one other piece of news for you. When I was at the sheriff’s office, they opened an old safe that had been in the basement for years. Inside, there were some human bones that were found back in the 1930s and never identified. The note with the bones says the sheriff at that time believed they were Native American. He never followed up, just put them in a burlap bag and stored them in the safe. Sheriff Johnson—our current sheriff—told me it looked to him like the bones were from a young person. He’s sent them off to the state medical examiner but says a forensic exam won’t be a high priority given the bones’ age. I don’t want to get your hopes up,” Angie cautioned. “It probably isn’t Maribelle, but I thought you should know.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. Then Izzy said, “Wow. You should have led with that. What can we do to speed up the forensic exam? And what about DNA testing?”

“I’m not sure there’s anything you can do to persuade the state medical examiner to move faster. Though maybe you could hire a forensic examiner yourself and get permission to have the bones examined by an outside expert.” Angie thought for a moment. “But the DNA test is a good idea. I’ve already asked the local sheriff to check with the M.E. on whether a DNA test might be possible. No point in paying for a forensic exam until you’re sure the remains are Maribelle’s, right?”

“If it’s possible to get a DNA sample from the bones, I could get a DNA kit here and take the sample from my great-grandmother—see if there’s a sibling match!” Izzy’s voice rose in excitement.

“And, if it is Maribelle, then you can decide whether you want to hire an expert to examine the remains and try to determine the cause of death. Okay, I’ll talk to the sheriff. I’ll let you know what he says. If we can get the sample, I’ll find out where we can send it with your grandmother’s sample to check out the relationship.”

Angie and Izzy talked for a few more minutes and exchanged more contact information. After she hung up, Angie went into the front office. Bernie and Wrigley followed her and sat patiently as Angie told Sam what she’d learned. “I think Izzy’s a great-niece? But her great-grandmother is a sibling to Maribelle Spencer. If the DNA match shows that, we’ll have quite a story for the paper.”

“Even if you still don’t know what happened?” Sam said, a doubtful expression on her face.

“We can do a running story . . . if it’s a match, then Izzy may be willing to pay for an expert to examine the remains and see if there’s evidence that indicates cause of death!” Angie’s eyes sparkled. “We can start with next week’s edition . . . background story on the missing teacher and finding the bones in the sheriff’s safe. Then each week, maybe, we can publish an extract from the diary while we’re waiting to find out the results of the DNA test. If it’s not a match, we can end there with an ‘Unsolved Mysteries’ lead and appeal to our readers to come up with any suggestions for identifying the remains or tracking down what happened to Maribelle.”

Ed came in as Angie was talking. She filled him in on her vision for the series.

“Sounds good to me. Should build readership. You thinking of running this story for a couple months? Or more, if there are developments?” Ed nodded, approving.

“I am! I’m going to take the dogs to the dog park for a run, then I’ll call Sheriff Mike.”

###

Sheriff Johnson wasn’t expected in the office until late, so Angie left a note for him and went next door to get an espresso for Ed and a chai tea for herself. Kassie was behind the counter, kneeling on a stool and reaching up to the top shelf to arrange bags of exotic coffee in alphabetical order. Angie smiled at Kassie’s outfit of the day— a long blond “big hair” wig, fancy Western shirt with rhinestone buttons and décor on the pockets, skintight jeans, and rhinestone-studded black cowboy boots. The shirt was open down to mid-chest and pulled tight over deep décolletage that far exceeded Kassie’s normal bust size. “What’s the theme of the day, Kassie?” Angie inquired.

“Howdy, ma’am. Us country folk are just hootin’ and hollerin’ to serve you,” Kassie said, climbing off the stool. “Country Music TV is honoring Dolly Parton tonight, so I thought I’d have a day of Dolly!” She put her hands under her breasts and pushed them up, arching her back. “You like? Bought these enhancers on Amazon.” Kassie puckered her bright red lips and blew a kiss toward a rancher who was grinning at her.

Angie laughed out loud. “You come up with something new every day! And I suspect you’re getting more male traffic with this outfit than with the pumpkin you were wearing yesterday. How about an espresso and a chai tea?” She looked around the shop. “Where’s Matt?”

“He’ll be here in a few minutes. You need to talk to him?” Kassie began the assemblage of the chai tea. “Should I wait to start the espresso?”

“Yeah, wait. Don’t want to take Ed a cold espresso or he’d grumble at me. I have news about Maribelle, the missing teacher, if you have time for a break.”

Kassie nodded as another customer stepped up. After handing him a bottle of water and an apple fritter, she walked over to the back table where Angie was sipping her tea. “So, what’s the news on Maribelle?”

“Two things! I talked to her relative who wrote the letter, and she’s going to send me a scan of Maribelle’s diary. That may provide some clues we can follow up on. And, if I can convince Sheriff Johnson to let us do a DNA test on the bones he found in the safe, we can get a DNA sample from Maribelle’s younger sister—the great-grandmother who’s hoping to find out what happened to her.” Angie looked hopeful. “We might actually find the missing teacher! That would be a coup. And, maybe . . . if there is a DNA match, Izzy, the great-granddaughter who started all this . . . will pay for a forensic medical exam to try to determine the cause of death.”

“Wow! That’s progress, for sure. I was doubtful when you told me you were trying to solve a hundred-year-old case. But you might actually do it. Congratulations.”

The chime on the door of the coffee shop sounded, and Kassie looked up. “Oh, Matt’s here. You’ll have to tell him about all this.” She waved for Matt to come over.

Matt leaned down and gave Kassie a quick hug. “What’re you up to, Angie?”

Angie filled him in then added, “And here’s some news for you. Ed just came from the Morning Sun and said Bobby Lee pulled up in a Mercedes.”

“He’s driving?” Matt frowned. “From what I saw of him up at the ranch, he shouldn’t even be allowed walking without an escort.”

“Not only that. He was talking with Ed’s aunt, perfectly lucidly,” Angie said with a grin. “I told you I thought he was faking it. Ed’s next door. He probably can give you more details.”

“Thanks for the info. I’ll talk to Ed and then go see Bobby Lee again.” Matt stood up and headed toward the door.

“Hey, Matt! Are you going to be home for dinner?” Kassie called after him. Matt turned, nodded, and went out.

CHAPTER 14

The black Mercedes was in the parking lot when Matt arrived an hour later, along with a half dozen other vehicles. Matt got out of his cruiser and went inside the building. The receptionist was laughing with a young man at the front desk. She leaned forward and stroked the man’s cheek, then pulled back as Matt walked in.

“Good afternoon, Jeannie,” Matt said. He looked at the man standing next to her. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

“Don’t think so, Chief. I don’t get down to these parts often.” The man was over six feet in height, lean, and wore his jeans low on his hips. He reached up, brushed his long dark brown hair back, and leaned back against the reception desk. “And, generally, I try to stay away from the po-lice.” His blue eyes glittered as he stuck out his hand. “I’m J.P. McGill. Here to see my grandpa.” He stroked Jeannie’s arm. “And enjoying the company of this lovely lady too.”

“Well, that’s quite a coincidence, J.P. I’m also here to see your grandfather. That is, if your grandfather is Bobby Lee McGill. Actually, I’d like to talk to you, too.” Matt turned to Jeannie. “Where is Mr. McGill, Jeannie?”

The girl’s face flushed bright pink. “I-I-I’m not sh-sh-sure, officer. I can check f-f-for you.” She leaned down and typed on the keyboard. “L-l-looks like he’s probably in the music room. Th-th-there’s a guitar player entert-t-taining . . .” She stopped as Matt put a hand on J.P.’s arm and began walking with him toward the right corridor. ”W-w-wait! S-s-sir, p-p-please wait! I need to l-l-let them know you’re c-c-coming!”

Matt ignored her and continued, J.P.’s arm in a firm grasp.

J.P. yanked his arm away and stopped, a mulish expression on his face. “You arresting me? Constitution says I don’t have to talk to you. And I’m not going to let Grandpa Bobby Lee talk to you either!” His face twisted in rage, J.P. jogged ahead of Matt down the hall and pulled a door open.

“Grandpa! It’s J.P. Get out here.”

Matt heard the sounds of a guitar that stopped at the interruption. Seconds later, a half dozen elderly people erupted from the room, followed by Bobby Lee who leaned heavily on his cane as he slowly emerged. Ed’s aunt Maude rolled her wheelchair to the front of the noisy crowd.

“What’s going on here,” Maude demanded, wheeling up to Matt. “You . . . and this one,” she pointed at J.P., “interrupted the Eagles concert just as ‘Hotel California’ was getting going.”

“This Nazi pig wants to arrest my old sick grandfather,” J.P. announced loudly. Everyone began talking at the same time.

One man raised his walker and slammed it down on the floor. “We won’t let them take him! Man the barricades, people. We’ll fight to the finish.” He saluted J.P.

A woman with thin white hair in a bun patted the man’s arm. “Now, Eustace, honey, you know this isn’t Germany and the war. Calm down. It’s almost time for your medication.” She put an arm around his waist and led him down the hall. The rest of the crowd formed a line between Matt and J.P., with Maude in the front.

A loud whistle shrieked and caused everyone to stop what they were doing. Matt turned around. Christine Kepler, the facility administrator, was standing at the entrance of the hallway, a large metal whistle in her mouth. Jeannie was hovering behind her.

“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Christine’s voice was penetrating. Several people started talking at the same time. “Stop! Maude, you tell me what’s going on.”

“Matt here came to arrest Bobby Lee and interrupted our musical,” Maude said, pointing and glaring at Matt.

“Chief, is that correct?”

“No, ma’am. I only came here to talk to Mr. McGill. Not arrest him. But his grandson raised a ruckus and convinced these people that I was here to arrest him,” Matt said, his voice calm.

The crowd quieted, and a few people drifted back into the music room. Maude remained defiantly posed in front of Matt.

“All right,” Christine said. “Clearly this was a misunderstanding. Why don’t you all go back and enjoy our guitar player.” Within a few seconds, the hall was empty except for Matt, Maude, and Christine.

“Where’s Bobby Lee and his grandson?” Chris looked around. “Did they go into the music room?” She walked past Matt and Maude and peered inside the room. “Not here. Maude, did you see where they went?”

Maude giggled. “They made their getaway out the back door of the building. I told Bobby Lee to make a run for it while I distracted the copper!”

Christine shook her head. “Really, Maude?”

Maude put her hands up over her head. “Hands up, don’t shoot, Chief.” Matt glared at her.

“Chief Harper, let’s go back to the reception area and discuss this. Maude, go back to the music room and stay out of trouble.” Christine whirled around, nearly knocking over Jeannie, who had been watching the spectacle over Christine’s shoulder. Maude put her hands down and wheeled into the music room. Matt followed the administrator back to the reception area.

“Next time, I’d appreciate it if you’d call and let me know you want to question one of our residents, Chief. We could have avoided all this commotion. Some of our people are fragile and . . . well, it’s not good for them to be frightened or get too excited. Now it looks like Bobby Lee is gone, and I have no idea when he’ll be back.” She was clearly annoyed.

“I apologize, Ms. Kepler. I probably would have done that, but J.P. was here at the front desk when I came in, talking with your receptionist. When he heard me say I was here to talk to Bobby Lee, he became belligerent and then took off down the hall. I had no idea I’d be interrupting the musical performance. Or that J.P. would announce I was there to arrest his grandfather.” Matt shuffled his feet, an embarrassed expression on his face.

“Apology accepted,” Christine said. “I’ll have Jeannie notify me when Bobby Lee returns, and I’ll contact you. Is that satisfactory?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. I’ll go now.” Matt left the building. The black Mercedes was still parked next to his cruiser. “Guess they made their escape in the grandson’s vehicle. Well, this was a debacle. And everyone in town will hear about it from the residents here.”

Matt whirled as a hand clutched his shoulder. Jim Harrington, balancing unsteadily on his cane, stepped back.

“I told you there was something going on here. Bobby Lee’s got spies everywhere. That girl in front? She’s J.P.’s girlfriend. You gotta watch out for her.” The man started coughing and dropped to the wooden bench behind him. Matt looked at him, concerned, as the coughing continued.

“Do you need me to get a nurse, Mr. Harrington?”

“No! The nurse might tell Bobby Lee I was out here and heard what he said to his grandson.” The coughing stopped, and Harrington bent over and spit a glob of mucus on the ground.

“What did you hear?” Matt asked.

Harrington raised his head. “He said something about getting out of town.” He slowly pulled himself to his feet. “But you didn’t hear that from me!” He turned and hobbled around the corner of the building. Matt watched, uncertain whether to believe Harrington, then got in his cruiser and headed back to the station.

Inside the assisted living facility, Christine looked sharply at Jeannie. “I thought I asked you to inform me when J.P. was here. He may be part of the scam that affected several of our residents. I don’t want him wandering around and disturbing our folks.”

Jeannie’s face turned red. She nodded and stammered out a few words, ending in “I’m s-s-sorry.”

“You should be. Don’t let it happen again.” The administrator turned on her heel and strode back down the hallway.

CHAPTER 15

The afternoon dragged. Ed turned in the story on scams targeted at the elderly and how to avoid them. Angie spent an hour toning down Ed’s colorful language then dropped the finished piece into the layout. Sam came in to discuss plans for covering the Beer Fest in Laramie, where a Marietta microbrewer was in the running for a prize. The day’s mail included several bills that Angie needed to go over with Barb Wilson, the paper’s CPA.

She sighed, pulled out her file with letters to the advice column, and selected two as possible for the week. The first was from a woman whose husband was trying to convince her to join a nudist colony. The other letter was political—two of the writer’s grandchildren were livid over the current president’s plans, and a family get-together had disintegrated into a shouting match and threats of shootings. What to do? Ed will have fun with this one. I can hardly wait to see his response. Angie pulled up a blank file and began working.

Her cellphone chimed as she sent the advice column off to Ed and Matt for their responses. Sheriff Johnson was finally returning her call.

“Hey, Angie. Sorry for the late call, but there was a fire and a couple of child endangerment cases today. What can I do for you?” The sheriff sounded tired.

“Question for you on the missing teacher case. Did you talk to the medical examiner about whether it’s possible to get DNA from the bones you found in the safe?”

“I did, and he said the teeth could probably provide a sample. But he also said his office would have to send it out to a private lab, and they don’t have funds to pay for it. And, before you ask, I don’t have the funds, either.”

“Not a problem. Either the family will pay for the test or the Times will. So how do we get the teeth?”

“We have to maintain chain of custody of the evidence, so either someone from this office, or maybe the MPD, would need to physically collect and sign for it. Then they’d deliver it to the private testing lab, wait while they extract the sample, retrieve the tooth, and return it to the medical examiner’s office. Have you identified a lab with the testing capability?”

Angie was typing “DNA testing in Wyoming” into Google. Several sites popped up. “Not yet, but I have a few leads. I’ll get back to you when I find the right one and know how much it’ll cost. Thanks, Sheriff!”

“Hey, Angie. Don’t you have to leave for Gillette now?” Sam stuck her head in Angie’s office. “It’s on the schedule.”

Angie got up from her desk and stretched. “Yeah. Not looking forward to it. A quick dinner with George Potts, followed by a meeting of the fathers’ support group. I promised I’d come this week.” She grabbed her coat from the hook in the front office. “Kassie said she’d take the dogs to her house.” Bernie and Wrigley had followed Angie from her office and stood at the front door. “No. Stay. Kassie will be by soon, and you’ll be able to play with Fergie this evening.” The two dogs sat down and waited while Angie fished treats out of the bowl on Sam’s desk and gave them each one.

The hour plus drive to Gillette was slow, with light snow falling and the bridges icing up. Angie arrived at the Taste of Chicago Restaurant a few minutes late. George was already seated at one of the tables in the nearly empty restaurant. Angie scanned the menu over the service counter, then sat down. “Sorry I’m late. It’s snowing between here and Marietta.”

“No problem. It gave me time to think about what I want to order. It all looks good. What do you suggest?”

“I’m going to have an Italian beef and a Chicago-style hot dog,” Angie said. “With cheese curds and a cream soda.”

“Then I’ll have the same, except for the cream soda. A little too sweet for me,” George said.” He stood and walked up to the counter to order. George watched as the hot dogs were assembled, then rejoined Angie at the table.

“I’ve never had a Chicago hot dog. What’s that iridescent green glop they put on it?” George smiled. “Looks sort of poisonous!”

Angie laughed. “Vienna beef hot dog on a steamed poppy-seed bun, topped with tomato slices, pickle spears, sweet pickle relish—what you called glop—onions, hot peppers, mustard, and celery salt. Delicious! You’ll see.” The counter man delivered their order as she said this. “The hot dog is the appetizer, and the Italian beef is the entrée. Cheese curds aren’t traditional, but I like them as a side.” She picked up her hot dog and unwrapped it. “Eat it while it’s hot!”

George grinned and unwrapped his hot dog. “Here goes.” He took a big bite, chewed, and swallowed as Angie watched. “Interesting. You should have warned me about the peppers.” He fished out the three remaining peppers and laid them on a napkin.

“I did say ‘hot’ peppers,” Angie protested. She consumed her hot dog in four bites, ate a couple of cheese curds, and started on the Italian beef. Ten minutes later, her plate was empty, and she sat back in her chair rubbing her stomach. George had watched in amusement at her intense focus on eating as he savored each bite of the Italian beef.

Angie took a sip of her cream soda. “Mmm, that was good. So what can I expect at the meeting tonight?”

“Well, it’s a support group for fathers who have lost or are estranged from their children—less of a complaint session and more positive support. The men who attend have been through it themselves and provide suggestions to help each other emotionally and, also, practically. For example, what to do when their children live too far away to visit and the mother denies the kids are there when he calls. Weekly letters to each child, packages with books, interesting things—like fossils and seed kits—maybe some little food treat he knows they like or thinks they’d like to try, like buffalo jerky. Just keeping contact and reminding the kids he’s thinking of them. Sometimes the mother intercepts and doesn’t give the package to the child, but at least the father tries. And it’s suggested he keep copies of the letters he sends, so in the future, if his children ask why he didn’t keep in contact, he can show them that he tried.” George’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes focused on the remains of the food. “That’s what I do, but I have no way to know whether my boys receive anything I send them.”

Angie’s eyes filled, and she discreetly used a napkin to wipe them. “I’m sorry, George. I know it must be hard for you. And worrisome not to know they’re all right.” She put a hand on his forearm and lightly squeezed. “You do good work, as far as I can tell, helping other fathers who face the same situation.”

“It does give me a purpose in life, feeling like I might be helping others.” George smiled slightly. “And educating a few people about the importance of fathers to their children’s health and emotional well-being.”

“I’ve been educated, for sure,” Angie said with an emphatic nod. “Tell me about the legal work you do for the fathers’ rights organization.”

“Mainly tracking national and State of Wyoming legislation and policy changes that affect parental custody issues. I put out a monthly bulletin to our members and also to state legislators and executive branch leaders who are responsible for family law and regulations. The bulletin summarizes proposed policies that impact fathers’ access to children and judicial decisions that are important. I usually include advocacy pieces and highlights of research findings on the role of fathers. During the legislative sessions in January and February, I spend a week in Cheyenne, talking with committee heads and friendly legislators to make them aware of our positions and advocate for more father-friendly policies.” George leaned toward Angie, his light brown eyes intense. “It helps when people like you support us. We had a lot of calls last week after your apology ran in the papers. Your column apparently is published in several papers in Wyoming, and the calls were from all over the state plus a couple from Montana and even one from North Dakota. Several of the callers wanted to donate money, others wanted information on fathers’ rights groups in their areas.” He reached out and took her hand. “Thank you for doing that.”

Angie let her hand remain in his for a few seconds, enjoying its warmth. She slowly withdrew her hand and looked at her phone. “You’re welcome, George. Really. And it’s nearly seven. We need to go to the meeting.”

The meeting was in the basement of a church. Mustard-yellow walls, fluorescent light, and molded plastic chairs were accompanied by the scent of cooked cabbage. Angie took a seat off to one side of the room while nine men sat in a circle in the center. George introduced her, and there was light applause when he read the advice column that held her apology. The meeting began with a sharing session with each participant saying a few words about how their week had gone. Then George opened the session up to anyone who had a story or a request. As Angie listened, she was brought to tears several times by the sadness and despair of the men speaking. She also was impressed with the genuine kindness and caring of the attendees. After the meeting ended, everyone stayed for coffee and cake. Angie wandered around the room, stopping to speak to each person. As the crowd trickled out, she found George cleaning up the room with the help of two other men.

“Ready to head out?” She nodded, and George walked with her to the parking lot.

“Thank you for inviting me to the meeting. I was truly moved by some of the stories and by how kind and supportive everyone was of each other,” Angie said.

“Good. That was my intention. I hope you’ll continue to support our cause,” George said. He reached out and took her hand. His voice deepened as he added, “I like you, Angie. Would you consider having dinner with me sometime?” He smiled. “Like a real date?”

Angie was taken aback. She hadn’t thought of George as a potential suitor and wasn’t prepared to field his question. “I’m sort of in a relationship, George. I think. I don’t know.” She trailed off, looking at George in confusion. “I like you too. But I’m not sure what I’m doing. Does that make sense?”

George laughed. “No. But that’s okay. Tell you what. It’s an open invitation. You call me if you decide one way or the other. And we can be friends who get together now and then, without it being romantic. How’s that?”

“That would be great,” Angie said gratefully. “Now, I’d better get going. My dogs will be wondering where I am.” She touched him lightly on the shoulder. George opened the truck door, and Angie slid onto the seat and started the engine.

She could see him standing and watching as she pulled out of the parking lot. The drive back to Marietta was long and quiet. There were hardly any vehicles on I-90, which gave Angie a lot of time to think. A month ago, she had been comfortable with the relationship she and Nick had developed, despite his occasional pressing for a deeper commitment than she was willing to give. Now Nick was gone, and there was no certainty he’d ever be able to return to Wyoming. Or would want to, now that he’s back home. His grandmother probably has a list of good-looking young Greek women that she’s bringing around. She shook herself, angry. I’m the one who wasn’t willing to make a serious commitment. But if I had, where would we be now? Nick has to be in Chicago for his family. Would I be willing to leave everything I’ve found here . . . the paper, Matt and Kassie, Ed, Sam, the puppy reunions . . . and go back to Chicago? She was so preoccupied that she missed the first Sundance exit off the interstate and had to double back to reach Matt and Kassie’s house.

The dogs barked an excited welcome as she stepped up on the porch of the house. Matt threw the door open before she rang the doorbell.

“Where have you been? Nick’s been trying to reach you and finally called me,” Matt demanded. He waved into the living room where the dogs surrounded her.

“I was in Gillette at the fathers’ rights meeting. I turned my phone off so it wouldn’t disturb the meeting.” Angie turned her phone back on and saw four calls and a text message from Nick that just said “Please call.” “Why? What’s happened?”

“Nick’s father died this evening. He’s not going to be able to come back to Wyoming,” Kassie said, joining them in the living room. “The funeral is Saturday.”

CHAPTER 16

Maribelle’s diary arrived in Angie’s inbox on Friday afternoon. She printed it out at the office and made copies for Sam and Ed, both of whom were eager to read it. The handwriting was small and neat.

“The paper’s ready to go to the printer today, so we can all spend the weekend reading!” Angie plopped the manuscripts on the two desks in the front office. “Make notes of anything you see that might provide a clue to what happened to her.”

Ed picked up his copy and skimmed the first two pages. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Kate’s not back till next week, so I’ll have plenty of time. What did Mike Johnson say about the DNA testing?”

“He talked to the medical examiner, who said it’s possible to extract DNA from the teeth but also said the state didn’t have funds to pay for it. And they won’t do a forensic medical exam to determine cause of death unless there’s an official request. Sheriff Mike said Maribelle’s family would probably need to pay for a private forensic exam, as well as for the DNA testing.” Angie gave Ed a look. “I told him the paper would pay for the DNA test if the family couldn’t. It’ll make a good follow-up to the story I wrote a couple weeks ago—especially if it turns out it’s really Maribelle.”

“How much does DNA testing cost?”

“I don’t know yet. There’s a couple places here in Wyoming and several in Colorado. I was going to call them today to find out. That’s not the problem. The sheriff says the chain of custody has to be maintained. That means he needs to send someone to Cheyenne to pick up the teeth, deliver them to the DNA lab, and then return them to the medical examiner. He isn’t sure when he might have someone available to do that. He said I should ask Matt if he can free up someone.”

Ed grunted and shrugged. “Well, it’s not like there’s any urgency. Unlikely anyone’s going to solve the case, even if it turns out to be Maribelle and the medical examiner finds a cause of death that suggests foul play. One thing I meant to mention to you, though. I have a friend who’s teaching criminal justice at the University of Wyoming. He’s not a medical doctor, but he might put you on to someone who would do the forensic exam.” He picked up a pen, flipped through the Rolodex on his desk, and scribbled on a Post-it pad. “Here’s his name and phone number. He’s kind of crotchety, even by my standards. So tell him I asked you to call him. If he doesn’t want to talk to you, remind him he owes me one.”

“Owes you one? What for?” Angie raised her eyebrows.

“He’ll know. And you don’t need to.” Ed stood up. “I’m heading over to the VFW then home to read. Let’s compare notes Monday morning.”

Sam was flipping to the end of the diary. She held up a page. “Looks like she was worried about some guy who was hanging around the school. Nothing more after that. What day did she disappear?”

“I’ll have to look it up in the newspaper reports. I think it was the end of April sometime,” Angie said.

“Well, the last entry was April 22, so that sounds right.”

“I’ll make a timeline over the weekend with dates from arrival to disappearance and anything noteworthy in between. You do the same.”

Sam nodded and began getting ready to leave. She glanced at Angie, who was heading back to her office. “Hey, did you talk to Nick last night? Kassie called me to see if I knew where you were. She said Nick was trying to reach you.”

Angie stopped and turned around, her face sad. “He did. His father died yesterday. He’s not going to be able to come back here.” She continued into her office, tears flowing down her cheeks, and closed the door. She heard Sam say “See you Monday” and “I’m locking the door.” Bernie crept out from under the desk and leaned against her, his tail slowly wagging.

“I still have you, Bernie,” Angie said, running a hand over the dog’s head. Wrigley jumped up and nudged Angie’s leg. “And you, too, Wrigley. We’ll be fine.” She sat down and began reading the diary.

A half hour later, Angie heard a knock on the outside door. She rubbed her face, then got up and went into the front office. Lucas McGill was peering in the window. He knocked again as she unlocked the door. His head was bare, and snow coated his light brown hair, the shoulders of his worn denim jacket, and the tips of his boots.

“Mr. McGill? It’s past closing time.”

“I know, but I saw the light was on and thought maybe you were here.” McGill stepped inside, brushed snow off his shoulders, and stomped his feet on the mat. “Seeing you up at the ranch reminded me that I’ve been wanting to put an ad in the paper. You know, one of those business card ones.” He handed her a light blue card with black printing.

Angie examined it. “McGill Technical Solutions.” She tilted her head and regarded him. “What exactly do you do? This doesn’t tell the reader much.”

“Mainly, we do telemarketing for our customers. Also, we provide online computer software problem solving. You know, like Best Buy’s Geek Squad? Interesting work. We get everything from ‘How do I get rid of these pop-up notices about a printer I had six years ago?’ to ‘I upgraded my system and now I can’t find anything’ to ‘My computer won’t turn on. What’s wrong with it?’” McGill grinned. “We usually respond to the last question with ‘Is it plugged in?’”

“I’m sure there’s a lot of people around here who could use those types of services,” Angie said. “I wonder why I haven’t heard of your company before.”

“Well, we’ve done most of our marketing in Gillette and Billings and Sheridan so far. But I got to thinking we should do more advertising locally. Maybe take out a bigger ad, in addition to putting in the business card one?”

“Of course we can do that. But you know we’re an independent newspaper. Mostly, except for the advice column, only people that live in or around Marietta read our paper. You might want to also talk to The Sundance Times. Their paper covers the whole county.”

“Yep, I’ve already talked to them, and they’re going to run my ad for the next month.” McGill pulled his wallet out and retrieved a piece of paper. “This is the ad. Can you publish it too?”

“We can. Sit down, and I’ll write up your order.” She rifled through Sam’s drawer and found the advertising order forms. “Price is thirty dollars for six months for the business card. The ad price, for one this exact size, will be seventy-five dollars for each time you run it,” Angie said. “Plus sales tax.”

“Let’s go with the business card ad and two of the full ads, to start. What’s the total?” McGill took a checkbook out of his shirt pocket. Angie read off the charge, and he wrote a check.

Tearing it off, McGill flourished it and then handed it to her. “By the way, if you’d still like to talk to my uncle, he seems to be having some good days right now. I asked him about your missing teacher, and he told me he remembered his brother talking about it back in the day.”

Angie looked up in surprise. “Really? I’d love to talk to him. Is he back at Morning Sun?”

“No, he wanted to come home again. Said things were too confusing at Morning Sun with all the different people around. But you could make the trip up to the ranch again. Come before lunch, though. He gets more confused as the day goes on, so afternoons and evenings aren’t good.”

“Yes, definitely.” Angie checked her schedule. “How about this Wednesday? I could be there by ten, if that works for you.”

McGill took his cellphone from a jacket pocket and clicked a couple times. “That works. And while you’re there, I’ll take you to the bullpen where you can watch our telemarketing and support service folks at work.”

“Perfect. Thank you for your business! And I’ll see you Wednesday morning around ten.” Angie walked McGill to the front door and locked it after he’d left. Watching him pull out in a beat-up green F-150, she had a bemused expression on her face. Something off about this. An ad in the Times for his company seems unlikely to produce any useful results. But I’ll take it! And the opportunity to talk to the old man. She sat down and picked up the phone to call Ed to see if he could go with her to the McGill Ranch.

“Can’t Wednesday,” Ed said. “I have an appointment at the clinic that morning at 8:30. Maybe Sam can go. I’ll be done by 9:30 and can hold down the fort till you get back.”

Angie agreed that that would work, called the dogs, and headed home.

CHAPTER 17

“If this is a student, see me during office hours. Otherwise, leave a message. I’ll get back to you if I think returning your call isn’t a waste of my time.” Angie hung up. This was the fourth time she’d tried to contact Ed’s friend, Professor Harry Fields, at the University of Wyoming. She stood up and walked into the front office.

“Ed, are you sure Harry Fields is alive? Still working at the college? I’ve been trying to reach him for two days and just get his voicemail.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Talked to him a couple weeks ago.” Ed spun his Rolodex and stopped. “He doesn’t like to talk to people, especially women. I’ll call him and give you the phone.” He punched in the number. “Harry, you old SOB, this is Ed. Pick up the phone.” Angie could hear a gruff voice emerging from the phone. “Yes, it’s me. I want you to talk to Angie Kramer.” More gruff protest noises. “No, right now.” Ed handed the phone to Angie.

“Hello, Professor Fields? This is Angie. Thank you for talking to me.” She held the phone away from her ear as a string of profanities squawked at her, followed by a few choice words about Ed. “I promise this will be brief. We have a hundred-year-old set of bones here, and Ed said you know might know someone who would be willing to do a private medical forensics examination on them.” There was silence on the other end, then another squawk. “Thank you. My direct phone number is 307-555-8655.” Silence on the other end. “Professor Fields, are you still there?” Angie held the phone out to Ed. “I think he hung up on me.”

“Probably. Funny old guy. He never learned how to end a phone call, so he just hangs up when he’s done.” Ed took the phone. “He was in my platoon in Vietnam. I saved his life when he was hit by shrapnel. Head wound. Didn’t affect his intelligence but did a number on his social skills. Did you get what you need?”

“I think so. He said he’d contact his person and, if she was interested, have her call me directly. So now I wait, I guess. I doubt he’ll call me back to tell me if she isn’t interested.”

“You got it. You need me the rest of the day?” Ed got up and began putting his jacket on. “Got an appointment with the insurance guy to estimate the damage from the hailstorm last week.”

“I’ll be here till five,” Sam said, looking up from her computer. “Angie, you have the county commission meeting this evening, so I’ll lock up when I leave.”

“Darn. Forgot about it,” Angie replied. “I’m going to take the dogs to the dog park and then home before I leave for Sundance.” She hooked the dogs to their leashes and went outside. Ed was still sitting in his truck thumbing through some mail. Angie knocked on the passenger side window. Ed turned on the ignition and rolled down the window.

“Hey, I meant to ask you something. Matt said there’s an old guy over at the Morning Sun named Jim Harrington. He wanted to know whether you know him.” Wrigley pulled on her leash, eager to get to the park. “Stop it, Wrigley! Sit!” Wrigley gave Angie a mournful look but sat back on her haunches.

Ed grinned. “Yep, I know him. He was sheriff over in Sublette County for about forty years. He and his wife moved here about ten years ago. When his wife died, he moved into Morning Sun. Nice guy. Why’s Matt asking?”

“I guess he’s talked to Matt twice, telling him that things at Morning Sun aren’t what they appear and talking about some sort of conspiracy there.”

Ed adjusted his NRA cap and frowned. “I’ll tell you something. Jim was an excellent sheriff and an even better investigator. Unless he’s lost his marbles since the last time I talked to him, Matt should find out what Jim thinks is going on.” He put the truck in gear, then braked. “Now I’m wondering if Aunt Maude is safe over there. I might go talk to Jim myself. Gotta go!” Ed backed into the street and pointed the truck toward home.

Angie stood for a moment then walked next door to the coffee shop and opened the door. Kassie was behind the counter, reading. “Hey, Kassie. Ask Matt to give me a call tonight, will you? After nine.” Kassie nodded and waved.

“Okay, dogs. Let’s go to the park. Heel!” Both dogs sedately walked beside her till they reached the dog park, where Angie unhooked their leashes. Tom Adams, the Marietta High School football coach and Sam’s boyfriend, was sitting on the park bench. The dogs spotted Krush, Tom’s wirehaired pointing griffon, chasing a bulldog and took off running. “Hey, Tom!” Angie waved and walked over to where he was sitting.

“Hi, Angie. What’s happening? Any hot off the presses news scoops?” Tom asked. “Sam says you’re making some progress on the missing teacher story.”

“Some. We may be able to get a DNA sample to compare with a living relative. And Ed gave me a lead on a private forensic medical examiner,” Angie said, keeping an eye on Wrigley. She hadn’t quite learned the rules of the dog park and was digging in the far corner sending dirt flying. “Darn. I have to go get her. And fill in the hole.” Angie jogged over to where the dog was digging, her dog poop scoop in hand. “Wrigley! Stop that!” The pup looked up and stopped, then looked back and forth between Angie and the hole. “No! No digging!” Angie gently pushed Wrigley toward where the other dogs were playing. Wrigley reluctantly wandered off, and Angie began scraping the excavated dirt back into the hole.

Tom watched in amusement as Angie trekked back to the bench. “Having second thoughts about taking on another dog?”

“Sometimes,” Angie said with a laugh. “But she’s so cute. And really well-behaved. She’s a star at dog training class. Learns quickly and remembers. But she’s still a puppy. Can’t expect her to behave like a middle-aged dog yet.”

“Yep, just like kids. It takes more than a few years before they’re fully civilized,” Tom said. “Sam and I talk about how many kids we might want to have and how closely spaced. She thinks having them all close together is the best approach.”  

Angie was startled. She knew Sam and Tom were seeing each other exclusively, but discussing their future children? “Huh! Are you two . . . uh . . . thinking a long time ahead? Or is marriage imminent?”

“Well, Matt and Kassie’s wedding next week has made us think more about our future,” Tom said. “Neither of us has officially proposed, but I think that’s because we both know we want to be together permanently. And children are an important part of permanent.”

Angie sat down on the bench. She absentmindedly patted Bernie, who had followed her and was resting his head on her knee. A wave of sadness washed over her as she thought of her excitement when she first married . . . and when she married the second time . . . and the third time. And, now, her loss of Nick because of her self-doubt. She stood up suddenly, dislodging Bernie. “Well, I wish you and Sam all the happiness in the world . . . together, if that’s what happens. I need to get going, but I’ll see you at the wedding if not before.” She turned quickly and whistled for Bernie and Wrigley.

CHAPTER 18

The Ponderosa pines on each side of the road were rimmed with frost the farther north Sam drove. Light snow was falling by the time Angie pointed out the turnoff to the McGill Ranch. The ruts in the narrow road were frozen, causing a jarring ride.

“There’s the ranch house.” Angie pointed as the road curved. “We made it. Nearly on time too.”

“We should have left a little earlier,” Sam said, pulling up to the house.

Angie shrugged her shoulders. “It was fifty degrees and the sun was shining in Marietta. Who would have guessed thirty miles north it would be snowing and icy?”

“Anyone who’s lived in Wyoming for more than a couple years.” Sam put the truck in park and turned off the ignition. She gazed at the house and half dozen outbuildings ahead of her. “This is quite a place. Ready?”

The impressive front door swung open as the two women stepped up onto the covered porch. Lucas McGill bowed and waved them to come in. Alvin loomed over him, his face expressionless, and reached out to take their coats.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” McGill said. “Glad you could make it. Any trouble getting here?”

“Just slow because of the icy roads,” Angie murmured. For the second time, she looked around the foyer with its giant buffalo robe, paintings, and polished parquet floor. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought along our ace reporter, Samantha Johanson. Sam also handles our advertising. Sam, this is Lucas McGill.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. McGill,” Sam said, extending her hand. “And call me Sam.”

McGill took her hand, slowly releasing it. “I’m happy to meet you, Sam. I’ve seen your byline in the paper. Good to put such a lovely face with the name.” He smiled at Sam. “And, please, call me Lucas. Mr. McGill was my father.” He turned to Angie. “Bobby Lee is waiting in the library. This way.”

The library was dim, the floor-to-ceiling windows streaked with snow melt and reflecting the gray clouds outside. Bobby Lee McGill huddled in a leather chair facing the blazing fireplace and was wrapped in a yellow and orange crocheted blanket. A young man Angie hadn’t seen before was perched on the ottoman beside Bobby Lee’s chair.

“Bobby Lee, Angie Kramer is here. Are you up for talking to her?” Lucas led Angie over to the fire. “Angie, this is J.P.—Uncle Bobby Lee’s grandson. He works in our customer service team.” He fixed his eyes on J.P. and scowled. “And he’s supposed to be at work.”

J.P. stood up, grimacing, and hitched up his jeans. “If I get one more call from some old lady who can’t figure out how to print documents off her computer, I’m going to quit. How stupid can these people be?” The whiny tone in his voice was grating. “I’m a McGill. I should have some responsibilities around here. And more money!”

“He’s right, Lucas,” Bobby Lee said. He reached out and patted J.P.’s hand. “J.P.’s not being treated fairly—especially compared to your precious sons.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Lucas said, turning away from his uncle. “Get back to work, J.P.”

J.P. sauntered out of the room. Lucas waved Angie to the matching leather chair in front of the fire. “Please sit down, Angie. If it’s all right with you, I’ll take Sam on a tour of our facilities while you’re talking with my uncle.”

“That’s fine. I think the snow’s coming down more heavily, so I’d like to get back on the road before the roads are too bad. Sam can interview you about your company and its history. She’ll write up notes for the story.”

Angie pulled out a pad of paper and a pen from her purse as Lucas and Sam left. “Now, Mr. McGill, Lucas says you’ve remembered some things you heard about the teacher who went missing from the Snow Prairie School back in the 1920s.”

###

Sam was startled by Alvin’s silent appearance at her side as she trailed Lucas into the foyer. She was slipping on her coat for the walk to the outbuildings when Alvin tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped and whirled around.

“You might need a scarf, ma’am,” the big man said. Sam was taken aback by Alvin’s high-pitched whisper. He was holding out a long knitted scarf.

“Thank you,” Sam said. She took the scarf and wrapped it around her neck. Alvin faded quietly out of the foyer.

“All ready?” Lucas led Sam down the hall and through the kitchen furnished with a Sub-Zero refrigerator and JennAir appliances. A tiny woman dressed in white tunic and pants stood at the kitchen island chopping a variety of vegetables. The smell of baking bread wafted through the air.

“Nice kitchen,” Sam said.

“We need heavy duty equipment. Hazel and an assistant prepare all the food for our family and for the ranch hands,” Lucas said. “She’s a true chef!” He raised his voice. “Isn’t that right, Hazel? Your beef Wellington can’t be beat in any five-star restaurant!” He kissed his fingertips. The chef smiled at him and brushed back a lock of gray hair that had escaped the white cap on her head.

“The back door is this way.” Lucas pointed at the right hallway off the kitchen. At the end of the hallway was a large room with boot scrapers and racks. Thick towels hung from hooks, and several anoraks and jackets hung on a rack on one side. He opened the heavy wood door to the outside and the storm door. Sam could see snow swirling in the wind. She adjusted her scarf to cover her head and stepped outside.

Three outbuildings—two pole barns and a long, low wood building—were spread over the acreage about a hundred yards behind the main house. Beyond them, a large barn and corral were visible through the snow. “We’re going to the building on the left,” Lucas announced. He pulled his battered Cattleman hat brim down against the snow and began walking. Sam struggled to keep up in the ankle-deep snow.

Lucas slowed and dropped back. “Here, let me help you.” He put his hand on Sam’s elbow as they continued the trek to the pole barn. Inside, Lucas released her arm and took off his hat. The building was toasty despite the high ceiling and open space. The walls were yellow, and the floor was covered with vinyl tile in a gray swirled pattern. On one side there were cubicle desks occupied by several women. Each wore headphones and had two computer screens in front of them. On the other side of the large room was a small kitchen and six-foot gray metal shelving. A large red sign pointed to restrooms at the back of the building.

“This is our local telemarketing, customer service, and computer help desk operation,” Lucas said. “Looks like we only have one person on the help desk right now. Let me introduce you to her.” They walked over to the far left cubicle. “Carrie, this is Sam. She’s a reporter with one of the local papers and will be doing a feature story on our company. How about you walk her through the next call you get?”

Carrie held up one hand, thanked the person on the other end of the call, and hung up. Sam thought the girl looked as though she was about fifteen — dark hair shaved on the left side with a long comb-over swirling to her shoulder on the right, a half dozen piercings in each ear, a nose ring, and tattoos on her arms and on her neck. “Hi, Carrie,” Sam said. “Are you okay with me listening in on a couple calls?”

“Sure, no prob. Take a seat.” Carrie scooted her chair a few inches and pointed at an empty chair behind her.

“Lucas! We’ve got a problem up at the corral. Come quick!” J.P. ran into the building, red-faced and out of breath.

“What is it, J.P.?” Lucas jogged toward J.P., then listened with a concerned look on his face. He headed toward the door, then stopped and turned back toward Sam. “I have to go. You stay with Carrie, and I’ll answer any questions when I get back.” Sam watched him rush out the door and then sat back in the chair as Carrie’s phone buzzed.

“McGill Technical Solutions. This is Carrie. How can I help you today?” Carrie motioned for Sam to put on the second set of headphones beside the computer.

“I want to know how to cancel parental controls,” a very young voice said. Carrie smiled and raised her eyebrows at Sam.

“First, what’s your name and date of birth? And how do you intend to pay for this service?”

“My name’s Dustin, and my birthdate is July 11 . . .” He paused, then added, “Uhh, 2003? I have a Visa card, is that okay?” The young voice began as a deep rumble, then broke into a high-pitched squeak.

“Nope! That’d only make you seventeen. Sorry, Dustin. I can’t help you. If you want to ask your parent to call me, I’ll be happy to explain to them how parental controls work . . . but I have a suspicion that they know how they work.” There was a click on the other end of the line as the caller hung up. “We get a few calls like that every week,” Carrie said. “Sometimes I tell the kid I’m going to call back and talk to a parent.” She giggled. “You should hear them start begging me not to! Pretty funny.” Her phone line buzzed again.

The caller needed some help getting rid of a virus that had infected his computer. Sam listened for a while, then got up, took off the headphones, and stretched. Everyone else working in the cubicles appeared to be on the phone, so she strolled around the room. All young women, two with long hair and tattoos, one substantially overweight with cans of Pringles and Coke on her desk, and one very attractive, well-dressed blond woman with a pair of bright red glasses perched on her perfect nose. As she strolled, Sam heard bits of conversation. “So you would like to buy three pillows?” “Let me repeat that card number back to you.” And “Yes, I will need your Medicare and Social Security number to process this order.” Sam frowned and went back to Carrie’s station. Her notebook and pen were resting on the next cubicle desk where she’d left them. She sat down and jotted a few notes to herself.

Carrie punched off the call she was on and stood up. “I have to run to the restroom. Are you okay here?”

“What should I do if your phone buzzes?”

“Don’t answer. We have other help desk workers in other sites. If I don’t answer, the call will roll over to someone who’s available.” Carrie headed to the back of the building where the restrooms were located, and Sam slid into her seat.

The blond woman in the next cubicle was on the phone. Sam heard her say, “Yes, ma’am, this will help your arthritis and it’s Medicare-approved. We guarantee it with a full refund if you’re not better in thirty days.” There was a pause. “Well, I believe in it so much that I got some for my grandmother, and she says it’s a miracle drug. She was barely able to walk with a cane, and now she doesn’t need the cane at all.” The blond woman laughed. “In fact, she went out dancing last weekend.” Another pause. “Wonderful. I just need your Medicare and Social Security number, and we’ll get this out to you tomorrow.” After repeating the information the caller gave her, the blond woman once again reassured the caller that there was a money-back guarantee and hung up.

Sam stood and leaned over the sitting-privacy cubicle. “Hi, I’m Sam Johanson, a reporter for The Marietta Times. I overhead you on that call. What exactly are you selling? My grandmother has horrible arthritis, and if it’s as good as you were saying, I’d like to order some for her!”

The blond telemarketer blanched and her eyes widened. “Oh . . . uh . . . well, it’s a new prescription drug. Nu-oxyca . . . just approved by the FDA, so you probably haven’t heard of it. It’s not going on the market for another month, but the manufacturer hired us to try to get a few early customers who can provide testimonials.”

Sam noticed the woman’s hands were trembling. “Are you okay? You seem sort of shaky.”

“I’m fine . . . fine. Just didn’t eat lunch today. Probably low blood sugar.” The woman stood up. “I’m going to go get an energy drink. Look, don’t mention what you heard to Mr. McGill, okay? Our work for this client is confidential. If he knew you overheard me, he might fire me, and I really need this job.”

“Sure,” Sam said, with a pleasant smile. She gestured zipping her lips. “He won’t hear anything from me.” She sat down in her original seat as she saw Carrie returning. “Hey, Carrie. We have a long drive back to Marietta, and with the snow we should probably get going. Would you tell Lucas I’ve gone back to the main house?”

Carrie nodded. “Sure. I’ll tell him when he gets back. I hope you got all you need from the short time you sat in with me.” She sat down and put on her headphones. “If not, just come back sometime and I’ll let you sit in for longer.”

“Thanks, I might do that. This was really interesting. I’m sure I can write up a story about your computer services work. That first kid that called will be amusing and a heads-up to parents.”

Carrie smiled then punched her phone as it buzzed. She waved at Sam and began talking.

###

Bobby Lee leaned forward and winked at Angie. “Now that Lucas is gone, we can have a nice chat. You sure you wouldn’t like a cup of coffee? Or tea? Or something stronger?” He gave her a lopsided smile and put his hand on Angie’s knee.

Angie shifted her knees to one side to dislodge Bobby Lee’s hand. “A cup of coffee, black, would be nice, Mr. McGill. But, like I said, I’d like to keep this short since we have a long drive back.”

“Call me Bobby Lee, will you? Mr. McGill sounds like an old feeble man. Which I’m definitely not!” He pushed a button on his chair. Seconds later, Alvin appeared at the library door. “A black coffee, Alvin, for this pretty lady. And a Wyoming whiskey on the rocks for me.” Alvin nodded and silently withdrew.

“Now, tell me about you, sweetheart. You have an accent, Chicago I’m thinking. I lived in Chicago for a while back in the forties. I joined the Navy when WWII broke out and got sent to Naval Station Great Lakes for training.” He grinned. “Lots of pretty girls in downtown Chicago just looking for a sailor to take home for some fun! You ever have fun with a sailor?”

“Mr. McGill! Let’s stick to our topic, shall we?” Angie gave a little shriek as Alvin silently appeared at her side with a cup of coffee. Bobby Lee guffawed at her start.

“Alvin is pretty quiet, isn’t he? Surprises me sometimes when he appears so sneakily.” He took the tumbler of whiskey Alvin handed him. “That’ll be all, Alvin. Disappear. This lady and I need our privacy.” Alvin slipped out of the room as quietly as he’d come. “Alvin’s been with the family for near on thirty years. Sad case, you know. Parents were murdered over in Montana, and he was left hung up by a rope around his neck in a cold barn for two days before he was found. He’s never been the same, but he’s absolutely loyal to the McGills. And a real animal whisperer — horses, cattle, even dogs and cats. Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about? Lucas said something about a teacher who disappeared back in the day?”

“Yes. Back in 1924. She was a teacher at the old Snow Prairie one-room school. From the newspaper stories, I think your older brother and sister, Andrew and Anna, were her students. I know you were younger, but your brother and sister were in sixth and seventh grade when their teacher disappeared. Did either of them ever mention Miss Maribelle Spencer, the teacher? Or her disappearance?”

“Ha! Andy was seven years older than me, Annie was eight years older. Pa had Ma popping us out about every year. Some of them died—all those old diseases. I was the youngest. Ma died a year later trying to have another. All boys, too, except for Annie. Pa had no use for girls, other than for . . . well, you know, right?” Bobby Lee cackled and licked his lips.

“Back to the teacher, Mr. McGill.” Angie said. “Do you remember either of them talking about the teacher going missing?”

The old man got a faraway look in his eyes. “I think I remember Andy talking about a teacher disappearing and school being closed early one year. Told us younger ones that the Indians captured and scalped her. Then he went on to describe in great detail the fun they had with her before they scalped her. Scared the bejeezus out of us little kids. We weren’t sure what he was talking about, but it sure sounded nasty.” He leered at Angie. “’Course now, I figure Andy was just making stuff up. He was about sixteen when he was telling this and probably didn’t know much about human anatomy!”

Angie rolled her eyes at Bobby Lee. “Did he say anything else? Either then or some other time?”

“Well, I seem to recall Andy saying our cousin Earl Lee was sweet on the teacher. Earl Lee was older than Andy, maybe late teens, early twenties. I’m not sure. He died before I was born . . . murdered one night, and nobody ever figured out who killed him,” Bobby Lee said. “You know why Earl Lee and several other of my family . . . including me . . . have the middle name of Lee?”

“No, I don’t! Can we get back to your memories of hearing about the teacher?” Angie was getting exasperated at the old man’s diversions from the topic of interest.

“It’s because our great-grandmother was a cousin of Robert E. Lee. Keep the name in the family. All the men in the family fought for the South in that war. Proud to say.” He sat back in satisfaction at the look on Angie’s face. “I bet you’re one of those radical libs, aren’t you? Well, it was men like Robert E. Lee who tried to keep this country on the right track. White people got a right to what they can claim, dominate, and use to make this country great! Every time there’s a lib president, like FDR and Clinton and Obama, we lose some of what makes America great. My pa always said Harding was the best president so far . . . pro-business, got us back after the disasters of World War I, and if he profited some from Teapot Dome, so what? Nothing wrong with making some money!”

Angie sipped her coffee . . . it was excellent . . . and studied Bobby Lee as he rambled on. She wasn’t sure if the man was putting her on or maybe slipping early into the afternoon dementia she’d been told about. She finally held up a hand. “Mr. McGill . . . Bobby Lee . . . is there anything else you can tell me about your brother and what he told you? Or what you heard about the missing teacher from anyone else?”

Bobby Lee focused on her, his hooded blue eyes sharp. “Nope. Just Andy said everyone teased Earl Lee a lot about him being sweet on the teacher. That’s it! You want some more coffee?”

“No, thank you.” Angie picked up her purse and tucked her notebook and pen in it. “We really need to get on the road. I’m going to find Lucas and Sam.” She stood up, ready to leave.

“I’ll buzz Alvin. He’ll know where they are,” Bobby Lee said. He pushed the button on his chair and struggled to stand. “It’s been a pleasure to talk with you. Come back anytime.” He hobbled over to where Angie was standing and leaned in to peck her cheek. Angie drew back, feeling his hot breath on her cheek and smelling the whiskey fumes.

“Not even a little kiss? A big one would make this a truly memorable day. Maybe I’d even remember some more of what Andy told me,” the old man snickered as Angie took a step back and turned away. He patted her hip as she turned to head for the door. Angie stopped with a gasp as Alvin loomed in the doorway.

“Your friend is here and says she’s ready to go,” Alvin whispered. He stepped back from the doorway, and Angie fled the room.

Sam was waiting in the foyer, holding Angie’s coat. “The snow’s at least six inches. We need to get going.”

Angie put on her coat and wrapped her scarf around her neck. Alvin was lurking behind her. “Would you tell Mr. Lucas McGill that we appreciate his hospitality and we’ll be in touch soon about the story?”

Alvin grunted an assent and opened the front door. Angie and Sam stepped out onto the porch and stared at the snow. It was blowing nearly horizontally, and Angie groaned. “We’ll never get home in this.”

“Yes, we will!” Sam grabbed Angie’s arm and moved her toward the truck. “I’ve driven in a lot worse, believe me. But we’ll be lucky to get there before dark.”

The drive was daunting. Sam skidded off the road once but was able to regain traction and pull out of the shallow ditch. Their speed dropped to a few miles an hour as the near-blizzard obscured the gravel road. Angie clutched the door handle so tightly her fingers cramped as Sam navigated through the storm. Two hours later, they finally hit Hulett and the snow diminished.

“Okay, you can relax, Angie. The rest of the trip should be uneventful,” Sam said. She accelerated to forty and patted Angie on the shoulder. “Relax! Take a deep breath. Let go of the door handle. We’re okay, and we’ll be home in about an hour.”

“Remind me never to do this again,” Angie muttered. She unwound her fingers from the door and massaged them with her other hand. “If you hadn’t come with me and driven, I’d be in a ditch buried in snow, and they wouldn’t find me till spring.”

Sam laughed. “Nah, someone would have found you as long as your cellphone was on. There was a woman over in South Dakota a few years ago who ignored the barriers closing I-90 in a big storm. She went off the road into a deep ditch, then her car was buried by snow. Couldn’t see it at all. But they tracked her by her cell GPS and found her after the storm stopped. She was there two days though. Ate a bag of M&M’s and some potato chips her kids had left in the car, so she wasn’t even hungry when they rescued her.”

“Uh-huh. Well, not going to try to beat her record. So what did you learn from the tour of the McGill businesses?”

“Telemarketing, customer service, and help desk. There were several women working the phones in cubicles, and the help desk girl I sat with told me there’s quite a few more employees who work remotely. I didn’t get a chance to find out everything the telemarketers were selling though. Lucas got called away on some problem up at the corrals. I’ll need to follow up with him before I write my notes for you.” Sam frowned. “But I did overhear one call. I get why a telemarketer would ask for a credit card number, but can you think of any reason they would ask for Medicare and Social Security numbers?”

“No. Well, maybe a Medicare number if whatever they’re selling is covered by Medicare. So they can bill it to the program. But not a Social Security number.” Angie thought for a minute. “I’ll talk to Sheriff Johnson about that. It does seem strange.”

Sam nodded. “Seemed odd to me too. I’ll talk to the hospital billing office in Sundance and check with them. Anyway, did you learn anything from Bobby Lee?”

“I learned he’s a dirty old man. Tried to kiss me and patted my rump as I was leaving. And made some suggestive remarks. I’m not sure I see why all the ladies at Morning Sun ‘just love him’ like Ed’s aunt says. He did recall a few things that might be helpful. His older brother Andy told him and some of his cousins that Maribelle was kidnapped by Indians who mistreated her, then scalped and killed her. Probably not what really happened. I think by the 1920s, the white settlers had driven out the tribes in this area.”

“Mistreated?”

“That wasn’t Bobby Lee’s word. I think he was suggesting they raped her. More of his suggestive talk. I swear he leered at me as he said it.” Angie shuddered. “Nasty!” She was silent for a moment then went on. “Bobby Lee also said Andy told him that their older brother Earl Lee was sweet on Maribelle. I’m not sure that’s a lead, but we should look for any interaction with an Earl Lee McGill in the diary.”

“I skimmed it last night, and I think I remember that name. But I don’t recall the context. I’m going through it page by page over the weekend and writing down names that she mentions.”

“Good. I’ll do the same. I’m looking forward to Matt and Kassie’s wedding and reception Saturday night too.” The two women chatted about the wedding and plans for the next edition of the paper for the remainder of the drive. It was dark when they arrived at the Times office, and Sam picked up her truck. Angie headed home to let the dogs run and heat up a Lean Cuisine for dinner. Afterward, she pulled out Maribelle’s diary and began reading and making notes.

CHAPTER 19

September 9, 1923

Dearest Diary,

I’ve been so busy since I last wrote you! Pa and I traveled by railroad to Lead, South Dakota, and then by stagecoach to Hulett, WY. That’s where Mr. Ferguson met us in a buckboard and hauled us to his home where I’ll be staying during the school year. Mr. Ferguson is a big man with one of the blackest, bushiest beards I’ve ever seen. His wife is a tiny woman with long blond hair she keeps in braids wrapped around her head. They look very odd together! They have three children. The oldest is Jack, he’s nineteen and works the ranch with his father. Billy is ten and a bit of a rapscallion. Annie is eight, very quiet and studious, and just the prettiest thing with long blond hair and big blue eyes. I share a bedroom with her and love her already. Mr. Ferguson, though, is very stern and proper. He assured my Pa that he’d be looking out for me and showed him the Rules for Teachers that the Snow Prairie school board imposes. He made me memorize them, too. Some of them are easy to keep, like no drinking or smoking and no loitering in ice cream parlors (I think the nearest ice cream parlor is a full day’s ride in a carriage). Others include not getting married (not a very relevant one as so far I haven’t even met any men of marriageable age!) and not consorting with men. The clothing rules, though, I don’t like. The rules say I can’t wear any bright colored clothing, which means I can’t wear half of my wardrobe. I’m going to get tired of brown, gray, and black, I fear. The worst rule is my dresses must be long enough to cover my ankles! So I had to spend two days adding onto the length of each of my dresses. So many rules.

I was really nervous today, my first day of teaching, even though I had spent a month helping in the classroom in Minnesota. But it was wonderful! I have only nine students right now. Mr. Ferguson says there will be two more boys, once harvest ends. There are three first and second graders, two girls and a boy. Five students are in grades three to seven, three boys and two girls. And one boy in eighth grade. They all brought an apple or a pear to school the first day and put them on my desk. And welcomed me with a loud “Hello, Miss Spencer!” I handed out the readers and the computation book to each and told them to read the first chapter. Then I worked separately with the young group, the middle group, and the eighth grader to get them going. It all went perfectly the first day! I must admit to being very tired now. I’m required to sweep, mop, and dust the schoolroom after the children leave. And to put the fire out, then clean the ashes, and bring in wood for the next day’s fire. So, I’m going to stop now and go to bed.

Yours faithfully,

Maribelle Spencer

CHAPTER 20

The sun was barely peeping over the mountains—lighting the clouds with pink and gold streaks—when Angie’s phone rang the following morning. She rolled over and looked at the clock. Seven forty-five. She groaned and reached for the phone, hitting the Accept button on her third try. “Hello,” she answered, her voice clogged with sleep. She cleared her throat and said “hello” again, more clearly.

“Is this Angie Kramer?”

“Yes, this is Angie. Who’s this?” Angie sat up and swung her feet over the side of the bed, bumping a sleeping Bernie.

“This is Dr. Maddie Wellman. Harry Fields told me to call you about a forensic medical exam you need?” The woman’s voice was bright and cheerful. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Of course not,” Angie said. She rubbed her forehead and pulled her feet back under the covers to stop Bernie from licking her toes. “Did Professor Fields tell you about the circumstances?”

Dr. Wellman laughed. “Henry’s not really a communicator, as you probably found out when you talked with him. All he could tell me is you’re a reporter, some human bones were found in your area of Wyoming, and would I call you so you would stop bothering him. He was my professor at the University of Wyoming when I was an undergraduate in criminal justice. Apparently he thinks I’m one of the very few students he’s had who wasn’t a total numbskull, so he’s stayed in touch with me. Anyway, tell me about your bones.”

Angie related the story to Dr. Wellman, concluding with, “The bones are about a hundred years old, the skeleton’s nearly complete, and it’s currently residing with the Wyoming medical examiner. The local sheriff says the state doesn’t have an interest or money to conduct a complete forensic exam to determine cause of death when there’s no obvious crime, and, if there was a crime, it’s unlikely to be solvable at this late date. But he also said he would be able to get permission for a private forensic exam. I’d have to arrange for either my newspaper or an interested party to pay for your work.”

“Hmm, something that old in a remote part of Wyoming? Any chance they came from an Indian burial ground? If so, we’d run into the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act. That would require us to turn the remains over to the federal government so they could be returned to whatever tribes there were in that area. Do you have any idea whether they might be Indian?”

“Honestly, we don’t know. We have a map of where the bones were found but haven’t investigated the location. But there were scraps of cloth with the skeleton that look like woven cotton. And a silver ring with a blue stone in it.”

“Probably not Native remains, then,” Wellman said. “Interesting. Okay, so I teach a class in forensic medicine at the University of Colorado’s School of Medicine. If you wanted to arrange to transport the skeleton down here, I could use it as a teaching example. There wouldn’t be any cost if we do it that way.”

“Oh, wow! That would be great! Let me ask you one other thing. Is it possible to extract a DNA sample from the bones, even though they’re a hundred years old? The family that’s trying to find out what happened to their relative could provide a close relative’s DNA sample to see if they’re a match.”

“I think so,” Wellman said after a pause. “Are there teeth?”

“Yes, several teeth were with the bones locked in the safe.”

“We could probably get a sample from those. The enamel in the teeth protects the DNA from degrading. Or from a femur, if it’s intact. The age of the bones isn’t really an issue. Scientists have extracted DNA from animals that were over 500,000 years old. So, the answer is a qualified yes to whether we can extract DNA from the remains. But you’d have to contract with a DNA testing lab to analyze the sample and compare it to the relative’s. We have DNA testing facilities here at the university, but their work is limited to clinical issues and research.”

“I can do that,” Angie said. “When do you need the remains transferred to you?”

“Umm, I’ll need to take a look at my class schedule to see when I can arrange the exam. I’ll get back to you on that. Now I have to run to an academic meeting. Let me give you my email address, and we’ll be in touch.” Dr. Wellman reeled off the address and hung up.

Angie was wide awake by this time. She prodded Bernie with her foot. “Get up, lazybones. Where’s your progeny?” Bernie slowly rose and stretched, then watched as Angie pulled on sweatpants and a sweater. Wrigley was curled up on the sofa when Angie went into the living room. “Up and at ’em, Wrigley.” Angie threw open the front door and held it while the dogs raced outside. The snow was only about three inches deep, with some drifting in low spots—not nearly as deep as she’d feared on the ride back from the McGill ranch. She picked up the snow shovel leaning against the side of the cabin and scraped a path on the deck and out to her truck. Shoveling accomplished, Angie whistled for the dogs and went inside where she poured kibble into the dog bowls, popped a sliced bagel into the toaster, and turned on her computer.

A Google search for Dr. Madeline Wellman produced over a thousand listings. Angie munched on her bagel with salmon cream cheese as she scanned through the first dozen and clicked on “bio.” Dr. Madeline Wellman was an associate professor of pathology at the University of Colorado, School of Medicine. Her M.D. was from the University of Chicago, residency at Yale-New Haven Medical Center, and she had spent three years as a postdoctoral fellow at the National Institutes of Health. She had been a faculty member at Colorado for seven years and had published over fifty papers in professional journals. Angie was startled to discover Dr. Wellman was the same age as she was. For a moment, she experienced feelings of inadequacy compared to the overwhelming accomplishments reeling off the computer. She shook herself and sat up straight in the chair. I bet she’s never been kidnapped by a drug cartel and survived! And, anyway, what kind of person really chooses a career that involves digging around in decomposed bodies?

Angie shut down the computer and went into the bedroom to get ready for work.

A half hour later, she was at the office. Sam and Ed were chatting with Kate, who was sitting on Ed’s desk in a lotus pose. “Kate! When did you get back from New Mexico?” Angie reached over the desk to hug Ed’s wife.

“Last night. Just in time too. Two days before the wedding, and the kids haven’t even settled on who’s going to perform the ceremony,” Kate said. “I offered to call my Wiccan friend who married Ed and me, but they very loudly said ‘no.’ So, Ed offered to talk to Judge Wilcox about officiating.”

“And he said he’d be happy to do it,” Ed added. “I also arranged with the VFW to rent their hall for the reception.”

Angie was surprised. “I thought they were just having a private wedding at their house. That’s what Matt told me.”

“Ha! Way too many people coming to fit in their house,” Kate said. “Matt’s mother called me. She’s invited over a dozen of her closest and dearest friends to the wedding. They’re all arriving tomorrow. And since she did that, I called a dozen of my friends and they’re arriving tomorrow too. And I told Matt he has to invite Bob and Red and their plus ones.”

“Several of the men from the VFW said they’d be there too,” Ed added. “I couldn’t tell them no since the VFW is giving us a deal on the rental. Mayor Edwards is on the board of the VFW, and he said since Matt is the chief of police, the city council should be represented at the wedding. He volunteered his nephew to DJ the reception, so there’ll be music and dancing.”

Angie looked back and forth between Ed and Kate. “Have Kassie and Matt agreed to all this? Last time I talked to them, they seemed to think there would only be you guys, Matt’s folks, me, Sam and Tom, and a couple other friends of Kassie’s at the wedding. And no formal reception, just dinner at their place catered by the Longhorn Grill.”

“They tried to say no, but we convinced them that wouldn’t work,” Kate said, jumping off the desk. “I told them not to worry. We’ll take care of everything. Your sister, Minerva, is a real powerhouse. She ordered the flowers and a bower for the kids to stand under. And she’s arranging for food to be delivered to the VFW hall at 4 p.m.”

“What kind of food?” Angie was worried. Knowing Minnie, she could have decided it would be illuminating for the rural hicks, as she viewed those residing in these parts, to eat Ethiopian food sitting on the floor and dipping from a communal pot.

Kate grinned. “Don’t worry, I talked her out of whatever you’re thinking. She settled for Italian food from Botticelli’s in Rapid City. Veal Parmigiana, chicken Bolognese, and pheasant-stuffed ravioli with Caesar salad and garlic bread. She also said she’s bringing the wedding cakes from Chicago.—Portillo’s Famous Chocolate Cake, I think it was. Is that good?”

Angie’s face lit up. “Good? It’s great! Matt’s favorite. His parents always took him to Portillo’s for his birthday just so he could have the cake.” She stared at Kate. “It sounds like you have it all under control. Is there anything I can do?”

“Not a thing,” Kate said. “Hey, Ed’s been telling me about your hundred-year-old mystery. Anything new on that?”

“Oh, yeah! Ed, your guy at the University of Wyoming came through. A Dr. Maddie Wellman called me this morning early. She’s an M.D. with a specialty in forensic medicine at Colorado School of Medicine. She said she’d do the medical examination for free. She’s going to use it as a training for her students. And she said it would likely be possible to extract the DNA from the teeth. I need to talk to Sheriff Mike. He insists that chain of custody needs to be maintained, so I need him to agree to send someone to Cheyenne to pick up the remains, transport them to Denver, and then do the return to Cheyenne.”

“Good,” Ed said. “I’ll have to tell Henry we’re even now. He doesn’t owe me one. But if you want the bones transported in the next week, you’d better make arrangements with Sheriff Mike soon. I heard he’s going deer hunting on Sunday and won’t be back for a week. So you’d better call him today or tomorrow.”

“I’m going to do that right now!” Angie went in her office and sat down, the two dogs following quietly. She punched in the number for the sheriff’s office. The man who answered told her Sheriff Johnson was out of the office and not expected back till late. Angie left a message and turned on her computer. She had just started working on a story for the next issue of the paper when Ed and Kate appeared in the doorway.

“Hey, Kate and I came up with an idea. If Mike doesn’t have anyone to send for chain of custody, he could deputize me. Kate and I have been talking about making a run to Denver sometime soon, so we could make a road trip of it and deliver and return your old bones at the same time.”

“When do you think you’ll want us to go, Angie?” Kate asked. “Once we know, I can check the Denver papers to see what entertainment is in town and get tickets. And there’s a couple great restaurants we can go to. It’ll be fun.”

“I should know in the next day or two when Dr. Wellman will be able to schedule the exam. I’ll let you know as soon as I know.” Angie was excited. “This is great. Thank you! I was worried that we wouldn’t be able to coordinate with her schedule and we might end up having to wait till sometime in the spring semester before she could do it. Do you think Mike will agree? With deputizing you?”

Ed nodded. “He’s deputized people before when he needed extra help. He made Nick a temporary deputy to help with the search for you and that girl, Harriet. It shouldn’t be a problem. Just talk to him before Sunday. If you don’t need me today, I’m going over to the VFW and check things out. Kate says I need to be sure there’s enough tables and chairs and dishes for everyone.” He grunted and looked at Kate. “You know, when we got married, I didn’t sign on to be a wedding planner, woman.” She punched his arm lightly and giggled before leading him out of the room. Angie heard the front door close as they left.

The rest of the day went quickly. When Angie ran next door to pick up sandwiches for lunch, she was surprised to see Kassie sitting at a table, head in her hands. She was dressed in jeans with torn knees and a black T-shirt. “No creative costume today, Kassie?” Angie sat down next to the despondent girl.

“They’ve hijacked the wedding. Mom went to Rapid and came back with two wedding dresses and told me to choose one. They both fit perfectly, but one had so many ruffles I looked like a fancy cupcake with a ten-foot trail of frosting. The other is gorgeous—a white silk sheath with a small ruffle at the bottom, with a few sparkles on the ruffle and a simple mantilla made of lace. I picked that one, of course. She knew I would. She also bought white silk-covered high heels and gave me her grandmother’s diamond necklace. It’s beautiful with the dress.” Kassie lifted her head. “But I just wanted a simple wedding! Just family and a few friends. At our house. And food from the Longhorn. That’s all. Why does this have to get so complicated?”

Angie put her arm around Kassie. “I know,” she said, her tone sympathetic. “But you’re Kate’s only child. And Matt’s Minnie’s only child. Weddings aren’t for the two people getting married. They’re really for the parents. They want it to be a grand affair that they, and you, will remember.”

Kassie looked at her, a forlorn expression on her face. This isn’t helping, Angie thought. “Let me tell you about weddings! My first one was a big affair that my sister put on. There were 300-some people there, half of whom I’d never met. My first husband’s family were big civic leaders. They had plans for Avery—the groom—to enter politics and had a photographer from the big newspapers there to document it all. The whole thing was a blur to me. Shaking hands with 300 people, having cameras in my face everywhere I turned, and having to do the first dance twice because the pictures weren’t quite right. And we divorced six months later when I found out he had a mistress. The second wedding was quiet and simple, judge’s chambers, only a few friends, no pictures. Neither of us had any money. And we never did because it turned out he had a gambling problem. Eighteen months, that one. And I won’t even tell you about the big, glitzy wedding Farhad and I had. Ninety percent of the guests were his family and friends, and I didn’t even understand the wedding ceremony because it was all in Farsi. You know how that marriage turned out!” Angie laughed. “Kate and Minnie won’t put you through anywhere near what I’ve been through with weddings. The important thing is you and Matt know you’re right for each other. You’ll be fine. Anyway, this one sounds fairly calm, and you don’t have to do anything!”

Kassie smiled and hugged Angie. “I know. You’re right. The important thing is Matt and me, and all the rest is just noise. At least I convinced Mom not to bring her Wiccan friend to the wedding!”

“Yep. You just hang in there. It’ll be over soon, and the two of you will be able to escape on your honeymoon—a week in Hawaii when it’s cold and snowing here. Too far away for anyone to bother you too.” Angie stood up. “Now, how about making one caprese sandwich on focaccia and a tuna on sourdough?”

CHAPTER 21

Jim Harrington was sitting in the Morning Sun lobby on Friday when J.P. McGill sauntered in. He let his head droop forward and slumped into the couch. Eyes closed, he began to make light snoring noises.

“You let the old geezer sleep in the lobby? Maybe you should call an aide and have them take him to his room,” J.P. sneered. He leaned on the reception desk and winked at Jeannie. “Where’s the key?”

“I-I-I don’t . . . I can’t,” Jeannie stammered.

Jim opened his eyes a slit and saw J.P. grab Jeannie’s wrist and twist it. “Owww . . . you’re hurting me.” Jeannie yanked her arm back and rubbed her wrist. “J.P., I would if I could. But if Ms. Kepler finds out, she’ll fire me.”

“Aww, honey, you know I’d take care of you.” J.P. lifted her hand and kissed it. “If the new guy who just moved in here has as much money stashed under his mattress as I’ve heard, we’ll go out on the town. Dinner, dancing.” J.P. leaned close and whispered something in Jeannie’s ear. The girl flushed red and giggled.

“All right. But then you get out of here, right. Out the back door? Ms. Kepler said I have to tell her when you’re here. She doesn’t want you hanging around the front desk, either.” Jim watched her disappear below the counter and come up with a key. “Here. Apartment 6.”

J.P. tucked the key in his shirt pocket and ran his hand down Jeannie’s arm. “Thanks, hon. You give me a call when you see the resident is going to be gone overnight. I’ll take care of the rest, and then we’ll celebrate.”

Jim slammed his eyes shut as J.P. turned around. He heard J.P.’s footsteps on the tile floor, fading as the young man entered the carpeted hallway. He straightened up on the couch, stretched, and yawned. “Must have fallen asleep. Did someone come in? I thought I heard a noise.” Jim stood and tottered over to the reception desk.

Jeannie kept her eyes down, studying the computer monitor. “N-n-no, Mr. Harrington. It’s been quiet here all morning. Aren’t you supposed to be at exercise class right now?”

“It’s that late? Yep, supposed to be there. Not that I enjoy sitting in a chair and kicking a ball to someone else sitting in a chair.”

“Well, you go and have fun, Mr. Harrington,” Jeannie said. She sat down on the stool behind the desk and watched him hobble toward the hallway. Her phone buzzed as she began to update the inventory list.

“Yes, Ms. Kepler? No, there’s no one in the lobby right now. Mr. Harrington was here for a while. Fell asleep on the couch, like he does sometimes.” Jeannie listened for a moment. “Yes, I’m almost done with the equipment inventory. But there seem to be a few things missing.” She listened again. “Two treadmills and a set of weights.” Another pause. “Oh, all right. If you sent them out for repairs, I’ll mark them in. We also seem to be missing two beds.” Jeannie slid her finger down the list.  “And several bedspreads and sheet sets. Uh-huh. Okay, I’ll take them off the inventory.” Jeannie hung up, her forehead wrinkled. “I thought the treadmills and beds were just ordered a month ago,” she mumbled to herself. Jeannie shrugged. “But Ms. Kepler must know.”

###

“Psst. Maude!” The exercise class was over, and Jim Harrington lumbered after Maude, who was zipping along in her wheelchair. She finally heard his anxious whispers and slowed.

“What’s up, Jim? And why are you whispering? Everyone can hear you anyway. Not like there’s any secrets around here!” Maude looked up at Jim, a wry expression on her face.

He bent, holding tight to his cane. “Who’s the new guy in Apartment 6?”

“Olaf something. He moved in last weekend while you were out visiting with your daughter. Haven’t seen much of him though. I think he has money, and that means he has lots of relatives coming by and taking him out to lunch and dinner,” Maude replied. “Speaking of dinner, what was that mush with pink and gray chunks in it they served for lunch today? I ate one bite and almost threw up!”

“I think the menu said it was couscous with chicken and shrimp. Never heard of couscous, but if there was any chicken or shrimp in it, I couldn’t tell. It might have been Spam, but probably not. Would have tasted better,” Jim said.

“Right! The food here has gotten terrible the last few months. I think it’s time to have a residents’ meeting to complain.” Maude started to move forward, slow enough for Jim to keep pace. “So why’d you want to know who’s in six?”

“I don’t want to say here in the hall. May I come in your room for a moment?”

Maude snorted. “I don’t usually entertain men in my room.” She smiled and winked at Jim. “But for you I’ll make an exception. Here we are.” She unlocked the door to Apartment 10. “Come on in and tell me whatever’s eating at you.”

Jim followed her into the room and, when she waved at the chair by the bed, gratefully dropped into it. Maude spun the wheelchair around and rolled up to face him.

“So?”

“That kid . . . J.P., Bobby Lee’s grandson . . . came in the lobby a little while ago. I pretended to be asleep sitting up on the couch and overheard him talking to Jeannie.” Jim raised his eyebrows. “I think the two of them are . . . uh, friendly in a more-than-friendly way, if you know what I mean.”

“If you mean they’re dating or having sex, then yes, I know what you mean. I’m not a prude, Jim. Young people have a right to fool around. Girl must be out of her mind though. That J.P. is trouble. Bobby Lee tried to tell me that J.P. got taken by that animal shelter scam, but I’m not that big an old fool. I expect J.P. had a hand in it and made some money off me. Anyway, you just telling me this to gossip or is there a point to it?”

Jim fixed Maude with a hard stare. “I saw Jeannie slip a key to Apartment 6 to J.P. That’s the point to it! There’s something going on here, and we need to find out what it is.”

“Maybe J.P.’s doing some work for the facility? Plumbing or painting or cleaning the carpet,” Maude said. “There could be some innocent reason why Jeannie would give him the key.”

“Ha! Jeannie protested that she couldn’t give him the key. She said she’d get fired if anyone found out. And J.P. said something about money under a mattress and told Jeannie he’d take her out to dinner and dancing, if there was.” Jim sat back, a satisfied look on his face. “Does that sound innocent to you?”

Maude frowned. “It sounds like he’s planning to steal money from Olaf. Though why the man would hide money under his mattress, I can’t imagine.” She wheeled her chair around and started moving toward the door. “We need to go tell the administrator about this.”

Jim pulled himself up from the chair, leaning heavily on his cane. “No, wait! It would only be my word against his. We need to catch him in the act.” He limped after Maude then yelled “ouch” when she whirled around and braked her chair. “Damn it, Maude. You got me with the footrests again. You’re a traffic hazard.” Jim leaned down and rubbed his ankle.

“Are you out of your mind? What? You’re thinking we should stake out Olaf’s room and when . . . if . . . we see J.P. go in there, what? You hit him with your cane, and I tie him up? He’s a very large and very young man. He’d take both of us out with one hand.” Maude raised her fists and punched toward Jim.

“But if we report it to Christine, Jeannie will warn him and then he’ll be free to do this to someone else,” Jim said. “If we catch him in the act, we can hold him and call the police.” Jim reached under his shirt. “And, no, I wasn’t planning to hit him with my cane. I was planning to use this.” He pulled a .38 revolver out and showed it to Maude.

“Jim, you old fool. If anyone finds you with that, you’ll be kicked out of Morning Sun. We all signed a contract that included a provision that we can be evicted immediately if we have guns or drugs in our rooms.”

“I’m not in my room, am I?” Jim gave her a sly smile. “Besides, I’m law enforcement. Retired, but it’s like the Marines. Once a Marine, always a Marine. It’s the same for police officers.”

Maude regarded Jim, thinking. A slow smile lit her face and her eyes sparkled. “Oh, what the hell. I’m ninety-two years old. What are they going to do to me? We’ll do the stakeout. But you have to promise not to shoot J.P. I want to find out what he knows about where my money went.” She wheeled back into her room. “So, let’s plan this. How do we do a stakeout of an apartment when there aren’t any places to hide in the hallway?”

Jim followed her and dropped into the chair he’d vacated. “Here’s what I’m thinking.”

CHAPTER 22

Angie had tears in her eyes, as she watched Matt . . . dressed in a black tuxedo with red cummerbund . . . walk slowly down the aisle. Bernie was a few steps in front of him with a small barrel tied around his neck with a red ribbon. Fergie and Wrigley walked at heel on each side of Matt. Angie noted Matt’s firm grip on Fergie’s leash and smiled. Matt’s success with Fergie’s training had improved with daily rehearsals over the past week, but she was still prone to occasional lapses.

The VFW hall was decorated with small sparkling lights on the ceiling. An arbor of red and white flowers, where Matt and Kassie would take their vows, graced the front of the room. Circuit Court Judge Wilcox stood under the arbor as nearly a hundred guests watched, including family, friends, the mayor and city council, and uniformed members of Marietta and Crook County law enforcement and fire departments.

Angie sat next to Minerva and Allyson, Matt’s parents, in the front row. Matt stopped and bent down to kiss his mother’s cheek and shake his father’s hand. He winked at Angie, then turned and walked to stand under the arbor, all three dogs by his side. The beginning chords of Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus” sounded as the guests stood and turned to the back of the hall.

Kassie appeared in the double doorway, with Ed and Kate on each side of her. Her dress was sleek and white, ending in a long ruffle. Her short, black curls were tipped with red and partially covered by the mantilla that crowned her head and drifted gently to her shoulders. The three held hands as they slowly walked up the aisle. When they reached the arbor, Ed and Kate each hugged Kassie, stepped back, and sat in the two vacant front row seats. Kassie turned to Matt and grinned as she slightly lifted her skirt to reveal bright red running shoes. Matt lifted one leg to show a matching red shoe. The audience laughed as the bride and groom turned to face Judge Wilcox.

The ceremony itself was brief, interrupted only once by Fergie restlessly wandering over to Angie. Angie patted the dog’s head, then looped her fingers through the necklace of flowers that covered the dog’s collar. Matt looked briefly up to the ceiling, muttered something, then turned his attention back to the officiant and said “I do.” The rings were extracted from the small barrel under Bernie’s neck and exchanged. As Judge Wilcox pronounced them officially husband and wife, Matt wrapped an arm around Kassie’s waist, bent her back, and soundly kissed her. The audience applauded as the newly married couple faced them, hands in the air. Laughter filled the room as “Who Let the Dogs Out?” blasted and Matt and Kassie danced down the aisle.

“Well, they managed to add some touches I wouldn’t have considered,” Minerva said. She and Matt’s father, Kate, Ed, and Angie followed the crowd out the double doors to the foyer of the hall. The family members joined Matt and Kassie to greet wedding guests in an informal receiving line.

Angie touched Minerva’s hand. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Minerva nodded and greeted the next couple in line. A sign pointed the direction to the restrooms, around the corner and in the back of the foyer. Angie used the facilities, then washed her hands and touched up the light makeup she was wearing. She left the restroom and rejoined the receiving line next to Minerva, just in time to greet Sheriff Mike Johnson.

“Mike! I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Have you been out of town?” Angie held his hand for a moment to prevent his moving on to congratulate Minerva and Allyson on their son’s wedding.

“Yeah, I’ve been at a conference in Cheyenne. I saw you’d called me, but I just got back last night,” Johnson said. He disengaged his hand and sidestepped toward Minerva. “I’ll talk to you at the reception.”

Angie nodded and turned to greet the next well-wisher. She blanched when Nick stepped up to her. He was dressed casually in jeans, a light green tailored shirt, open at the collar, and a tan sports jacket. His hair was longer than Angie remembered from only a few weeks ago. The thick black curls framed his face, giving him the appearance of a Greek god.

“Hello, Angie,” Nick said, taking her hand. His dark brown eyes, with the long dark lashes she loved, held hers as he gently squeezed her hand.

A wave of nausea hit Angie. She gulped, flushed red, and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Steadying herself, she squeaked, “Nick? I didn’t know you were coming. When did you get here?”

“Well, I was supposed to arrive last night, but my flight was cancelled. Got in a couple hours ago, rented a car, and drove straight here.” He laughed. “I got here just in time for the ‘I now pronounce you husband and wife’ part and Matt and Kassie dancing down the aisle with the dogs.” He leaned toward her and said in a low voice, “I don’t want to hold up the receiving line, but I hope we can talk before I have to leave.”

Angie stammered out “of course” and turned to the next person in line. The line was short, and a few minutes later the wedding party was posing for pictures. Angie excused herself and dashed to the restroom as the nausea returned. Good thing I had a light breakfast, she thought as she washed her face. Who knew seeing Nick again would have this effect on me?

The door to the restroom pushed open as Angie dried her hands. Kassie smiled broadly when she saw Angie standing at the sink. “Hey! Have you seen Nick? He looks good! I like the longer hair.”

“Yeah, I talked to him for a minute in the receiving line.” Angie cast a sour look at Kassie. “It would have been nice if you or Matt had told me he was coming.”

“We didn’t know for sure. He said he’d try to make it if he could find someone to cover the restaurant for him. He’s just here for the wedding. His flight back is this evening.”

Angie watched as Kassie touched up her makeup and adjusted the bodice of her wedding dress. “You look amazing, Kassie. I know you were planning a Halloween wedding—orange dress and black makeup, with Matt dressed as a scarecrow and eerie music to walk down the aisle. But this is all beautiful.” Angie reached out and hugged Kassie. “I’m so happy for both of you! And I can’t wait to be a great-aunt!”

Kassie’s eyebrows shot up. “Whoa, there. You’ll have to wait a while for that. Matt and I have lots of things we want to do before we start diaper duty. We’re planning a trip to Peru next year to visit Machu Picchu. And he’s going to teach me Brazilian Jujitsu. And I’m trying to talk him into us learning parkour!” She paused at Angie’s expression. “You know—parkour? It’s sort of freestyle obstacle course running. Look it up. Anyway, there’s a group in Rapid City that just started, and Matt and I are going to join it. I’ll tell you more about it after we go to the meeting.”

“Okay, you do that,” Angie said. “But right now, let’s get back to the party.” She opened the restroom door and held it for Kassie to sweep through.

The lunch buffet was laid out on long tables against one wall. The head table had white linens and red and white roses in front of each place setting. Round tables with eight place settings each were strategically placed around the room. Matt spotted them and came over to offer his arm to Kassie and escort her to the head of the food line. Angie watched the crowd form a queue behind the newlyweds. Allyson waved at her from the head table. He patted a chair next to him and waved again.

“Am I supposed to be at this table?” Angie asked as she joined him.

“Of course you are,” Allyson said. “I saw your friend, Nick, come in. We could get another chair if you’d like to have him up here with you.”

“No, that’s not necessary. He’s not family.” Angie sat down. “How’s Minnie holding up? Everything seems to be going according to plan.”

“Oh, you know Minerva. She’s unhappy with the food and the servers. But she’ll get over it.” Allyson chuckled. “The funny thing is how she and Kassie’s mother, Kate, are getting along. Two more different personalities probably don’t exist, but they really came together in getting this wedding arranged in a matter of days.”

Angie nodded, distracted at the sight of Nick talking with Matt and Kassie at a far corner of the hall. “Uh, huh,” she finally said.

Minerva descended on them a moment later. She had a plate of food in one hand and a smaller plate of salad greens. She plunked it down in front of Allyson. “Here. Heart healthy, which is difficult given the available selections. Kate assured me Botticelli’s had low calorie, low fat selections, but . . .” The larger plate held a pile of green beans, a small pile of pasta, and a tiny piece of chicken breast. “Angie, the food line’s almost to the end. Come with me and get your food so we can stay on schedule.” She walked briskly off in the direction of the serving tables.

Angie stood then leaned down and whispered to Allyson, “Anything you’d like me to get for you? I could slip a buttered roll to you under the table.”

Allyson stared bleakly at the plates in front of him and shook his head. “No. Maybe if I only eat this, she’ll approve a small piece of the wedding cake.”

The reception luncheon was followed by two hours of music and dancing. Matt and Kassie led off the dancing to Queen’s “You’re My Best Friend” with twirling flourishes and a dramatic body lift finish that provoked enthusiastic applause. Angie watched in amusement as Matt attempted to teach his mother a tango while Kassie and Kate smoothly executed the complicated steps. The obligatory first few dances over, the guests joined the wedding party on the dance floor.

Matt came over to the head table and tapped Angie’s shoulder. “Your turn for the dance floor, Angie.”

Angie shook her head but allowed Matt to pull her to her feet as the DJ started playing “The Monster Mash.” “This isn’t much of a dance tune. Maybe we should sit it out and wait to see what the next song is?”

“Nope, this is one Kassie specially wanted for you,” Matt said, pulling Angie onto the floor. He began gyrating, red shoes flashing. Angie stood in one spot and moved her feet a few inches while shaking her arms. Matt laughed and put his hands on her waist, then picked her up and spun around. As he put her down again, Nick appeared at his shoulder.

“May I cut in?”

Matt relinquished Angie and stepped back with a grin. “Sure. I have at least thirty more ladies to dance around the floor.

Nick took Angie’s hand and pulled her to the edge of the dance floor. “More room here,” he said. “We won’t be hit by people flinging their partners around.” He put his arms around Angie as the DJ began playing “The Time of My Life.” “Your favorite. I slipped the DJ a few dollars to play it for us,” Nick said. He pulled her close, and Angie nestled her face in Nick’s shoulder.

They danced, not speaking, till the end of the song. Angie stepped back as the final strains of the music ended. She looked up at him and smiled. “You do know it’s my favorite because Patrick Swayze was so beautiful, right?”

“I figured that was the case. But, hey, I also figured there was nothing wrong with hoping some of that Swayze feeling might spill over on me.” Nick’s dark brown eyes were gentle. “I’ve missed you, Angie.”

Angie’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ve missed you too. But I understand that you need to be in Chicago . . . for your family.” She looked around the room. “And I have a life here. A job I love, friends, beautiful surroundings. The dogs too.” She hesitated. “Do you think you’ll ever be able to come back here?”

Nick took her hand and lifted it to his cheek. “I don’t know. There’s no one else in the family to take over managing the restaurant. And we can’t afford to hire a manager, even if we somehow found a competent one that my grandmother and mother would trust.”

“And long distance relationships don’t work, do they?” Angie leaned into Nick, resting her forehead on his shoulder. “I don’t see a way around this.”

Nick lifted Angie’s chin to gaze into her eyes. “Right now, I don’t see a way around it either. But I wish it were different. I do love you, sweet Angie.” He hugged her. “Let’s not give up yet. Maybe things will change and I can leave Chicago. Or you will decide you’re willing to leave this . . . for the life we could have together.” He gently kissed her forehead. “I need to leave for the airport now, but we’ll keep talking. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He strode away, not looking back. Angie watched Nick go then slowly walked back to the head table and took her seat. Minerva slid over to sit beside her and handed her a glass of Chardonnay.

“He seems to be a nice young man,” Angie’s sister pronounced. “Matt says he’s moved back to Chicago. Are you considering following him?”

“No! I’m not returning to Chicago, Minnie. Just stop it!” Angie tone was sharp, and Minerva sat back in her chair.

“Well, I saw the two of you out there dancing. You can’t blame me for hoping,” Minerva said. “I don’t have much family, and it would be nice to have you and Matt . . . and now Kassie, of course . . . close.” She took a long swallow of wine. “I know you think I’m bossy, but really I miss having you around. And I want you to be happy.”

“I know that, Minnie.” Angie’s voice was low. “It’s just this isn’t the time for it. Nick and I are close, but he wants marriage and children . . . and now he’s in Chicago.” Her face collapsed, and a tear ran down her cheek. “I need to go home now. It was a wonderful wedding, thanks to you and Kate. Tell Matt and Kassie I love them, and I’ll see them when they get back from their honeymoon.” Angie pushed back her chair, stood up, and fled the hall.    

CHAPTER 23

December 27, 1923

Dear Diary,

Christmas was very different here at the Fergusons’ home, compared to being with my family. They don’t decorate a tree at all, and each family member gets a single gift. The gift was an orange! But the Ferguson children were happy. No chores on Christmas! Once church was over, they played games all day and had a contest to see who could spit the orange seeds the farthest. Billy, couldn’t spit the orange seeds. They just dribbled down his chin because he’d lost his two front teeth just a few days before. It was very funny to watch him try!

I did miss being at home in Minnesota. My Ma and Da sent me a package of cookies and a fruitcake that I shared with the Fergusons, of course, and a new dress and stockings. The dress is navy blue with a crocheted white collar, very pretty and Mr. Ferguson approved it as proper for a teacher. My sister sent two new books, one is a by an English writer, Agatha Christie, a mystery! The other is by Hugh Lofting, The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle. Annie said it’s very entertaining and educational for children. I may read it to my students! Oh, I do miss my family. But the first semester is nearly over, and Da said he would pick me up at the beginning of summer. School starts again tomorrow. I love teaching, especially the younger children. Andy Lee McGill, though, is giving me problems. He’s a sixth grader and knows he only has two more years in school. So he doesn’t really want to learn anything. He throws spitballs at the girls and bullies the boys. I sent a note home with him to ask his father to please meet with me to discuss his son’s behavior. His father sent the boy’s older brother, Earl Lee, instead of coming himself. Earl Lee just laughed and said I should be glad I wasn’t teaching him when he was Andy Lee’s age. That he set one of desks on fire because he had a fight with the boy who sat at that desk. Oh, my. Then Earl Lee grabbed my hand and said he would have behaved better if the teacher had been as pretty as I am. I pulled my hand away and told him the meeting was over! Mr. Ferguson was outraged when I told him about it and went out to the McGill Ranch to talk to Earl Lee’s father. I guess it helped some, as Andy Lee is behaving more politely, but Earl Lee comes to pick him up after school now. He makes me very uncomfortable, the way he smiles at me. I wish I had an older teacher I could talk to and advise me.

Yours faithfully,

Maribelle Spencer

CHAPTER 24

A soft tap on the door yanked Maude from a pleasant dream. She had fallen asleep in her wheelchair, after she had dressed in black sweatpants, a black sweater, and a black knit cap from which a few white curls escaped. It was dark in her apartment, and it took her a few seconds to orient herself. Then she remembered—Jim Harrison had told her to wait for him to get things set up. Tonight was the first night they were beginning surveillance on Apartment 6. Olaf had announced at dinner that his grandson was picking him up for a two-day trip to Deadwood, the gambling haven in South Dakota. Jim had whispered to her, as she left the dining hall, “Be prepared! And wear black . . . make it harder for him to see what’s happening.”

Maude wheeled to the door and slowly opened it. The dim light in the hallway showed Jim standing outside. At least, she assumed it was Jim. The form in front of her wore a black jumpsuit and a black balaclava that covered his face. The cane and the bright green eyes peering out of the balaclava gave him away. “Quick, let me in,” Jim said, clutching a laptop computer to his chest. Maude rolled her wheelchair backward and opened the door wider.

Jim stepped in and closed the door. “I’ve got the equipment set up.” He placed the laptop on the small dining table and turned it on. He sat down and began typing. “Okay. The camera’s working.” He pointed at the display on the screen, which showed the door to Apartment 6 in the dim light. “I attached the camera to the top of the doorpost of the apartment opposite.”

Maude wheeled up to the table and looked at the screen. “Good placement. So what now?”

“Now we sit here and watch for J.P. to show up. When he does, I’ll wait till he’s inside the apartment and then go out to the hall and stop him when he comes out.” Jim unzipped his jumpsuit and reached inside. “I’ll point this at him and yell, ‘Police! On your knees!’ He brandished the gun toward the door. “You’ll stay here and watch the screen. When you see me get the drop on him, you dial 9-1-1. Tell them we’re holding a thief and send a cruiser.”

“What if he attacks you instead of giving up? What then?” Maude’s brow wrinkled. “I’m not going to be much help with stopping him.”

“That’s the beauty of this,” Jim replied. “As soon as I yell out, everyone on the floor will come out of their apartments and see him . . . either on the ground or attacking me. The jig will be up for him. Lots of people will be able to identify him, even if he gets away.”

Maude looked doubtful. “I’m not sure you can count on a lot of witnesses, Jim. Most of the people living here wear hearing aids that they take out at night. Or take sleeping meds that really knock them out.”

“Worse comes to worst, you’ll have the video on the computer. Hopefully, it’ll take a good full face picture of him as he leaves the apartment,” Jim said. He shrugged. “Even if he kills me or puts me in the hospital, you’ll have the evidence.”

“Right! I can do that, but try not to let him kill you. Enough of us old people die of natural causes here. We don’t need a murder funeral!” She grinned at him. “Besides, I sort of like you. This is the most fun I’ve had in a year.”

Jim grunted and looked at the screen. “He probably won’t come for a couple hours. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? I’ll wake you if he shows up.”

###

“Psst! He’s here!”

Maude came awake with a start and reached for the bedside light.

“No, don’t turn the light on. We don’t want to let him know anyone’s awake.” Jim grabbed her hand and helped her up from the bed. Maude transferred to the wheelchair and moved over to the computer.

The grainy black and white picture on the screen showed a dark figure at the door of Apartment 6. His face was down, and they could see his hand sliding a key into the lock. “Are you sure it’s J.P.? I couldn’t see his face,” Maude whispered. They watched as the figure opened the door and slipped inside.

“Who else could it be?” Jim asked dismissively. “Jeannie gave him the key.” He moved to the door. “I’m going now. You get ready to dial 9-1-1 when you see me get the drop on him.” Jim patted the holstered gun under his unzipped jumpsuit as he quietly opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Maude watched the computer screen. Seconds later, Jim appeared outside Apartment 6 and took a position next to the door. She saw him pull his gun from the holster and hold it with both hands down below his waist.

Nothing happened for five minutes. Maude watched the screen, hardly breathing and with her fingers poised over her phone. The door to Apartment 6 began to open. Maude hit Call as Jim shouted “Police! Hands up! On your knees!” He raised his gun as the man emerged from the apartment and dropped to his knees.

“9-1-1. What is the nature of your emergency?”

“There’s a thief at the Morning Sun Assisted Living Home,” Maude said, her voice shaking. “We captured him. Send the police!”

“All right, ma’am. I’m notifying the Marietta police now. Stay on the line.” There was a brief pause before the operator came back on the line. “Police should be there in a few minutes. Are you safe?”

“Yes. Jim is holding the thief out in the hallway. He has a gun.”

The operator gasped. “The thief has a gun? I need to relay that information to the police. Hold on.” There was another pause. “All right, ma’am. The police have been notified that there are weapons in play. Can you tell me the current situation?”

“No, no,” Maude protested. “The thief doesn’t have the gun. At least I don’t think he does. Jim has the gun and is holding the thief for the police.”

“Hold again,” the 9-1-1 operator said. She came back on the line a moment later. “I’ve relayed that the gun is being used to control the suspect. In the future, please start with information like that. Otherwise your friend might have been shot on sight. You understand?”

“I do,” Maude said, somewhat chastened. “I’m sorry. I should have thought of that.” She peered at the computer screen. “You probably want to know that now there’s several other people in the hallway?” She stared at the screen. Ha! Never would have guessed Fred wears a nightcap to bed. Guess it keeps his bald head warm.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s important to know too. I’ll radio this information to the officers. They should be there any minute now.”

The sound of a police siren was now audible. “I think they’re here, operator,” Maude said.

“Yes, they just told me. Stay in your apartment now. Is there anything else I can do for you?” Maude assured her there wasn’t, and the call disconnected.

Out in the hallway, there were loud voices. “Police! Everyone, get back in your apartments! Sir, please lower your gun and place it on the floor.” Maude looked at the screen again and saw two police officers—guns out—approach Jim, who was leaning over to put his gun on the floor. She recognized Bob Harris as he picked up Jim’s gun and tucked it in his belt. The other officer frisked Jim, motioned him to move away, and then spoke to the man kneeling on the floor with his hands still raised. He was young—early twenties and blond—and wore a white shirt and tie. He reached gingerly into his pocket and brought out his wallet. Bob examined the contents of the wallet, then smiled and handed it back.

Maude was frustrated that she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She went over to her door and opened it a crack. The young man’s voice was nervous, and she heard him say, “I’m Steve Olson. My grandpa Olaf forgot to bring his heart medicine. He asked me to run over here and pick it up for him.” He held up a small brown prescription bottle. “I’m sorry to cause all this fuss. We were at my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary party in Deadwood, and we just closed down the reception. It never occurred to me that anyone would even notice I was here.” He looked at Jim. “I don’t know why this man pulled a gun on me, but he said he was the police and ordered me to kneel on the floor with my hands up. So I did.”

Jim was standing to one side of the officers. They turned and regarded him. “Okay. Exactly what’s going on here?”

“I’m a retired sheriff,” Jim said. “I overheard someone talking about breaking into this apartment to steal some money. Apparently there’s a rumor going around that Olaf hides money under his mattress.” There was a guffaw from Olaf’s grandson. Jim went on. “I arranged surveillance of the apartment. When I saw this young man—Steve, is it? —enter the apartment, I naturally assumed he was the thief.”

Bob scratched his head. “You impersonated a police officer though. That’s a misdemeanor. And you threatened him with a gun. We’ll need to take you in and sort this out.”

Steve, Olaf’s grandson, waved a hand. “Look, he was trying to prevent a theft from my grandfather. I don’t want to press charges. Let’s just forget about this.” He held out a hand to Jim. “Shake?” Jim took his hand and apologized for scaring him.

“I’m not sure about this,” Bob said. He looked at Jim, who was leaning heavily on his cane. “Do you live here?”

“I do.” He reached in his pants pocket, pulled out his wallet, and extracted his driver’s license. Bob examined it and wrote down something in his notebook.

“All right. We’ll make a report and I’ll check with the sheriff on whether we will file charges. I’ll let you know tomorrow.” Bob looked up and down the hallway at people standing in their doorways. The Morning Sun’s security officer nodded at him then said, “Nothing to see here, folks. Go back in your apartments.” Several people withdrew and closed their doors. Others continued watching with interest.

“May I go now?” Jim asked. At Bob’s nod, Jim held out his hand. “May I have my gun back?”

“We’ll hold it as evidence for now, sir. If it’s determined there are no charges against you, we’ll return it.”

Bob, the other officer, and Steve turned and walked toward the lobby. Jim stood watching them and then turned and saw Maude in her doorway. He limped over to her, and she opened the door wide for him. Inside, Jim slumped into a chair.

“Well, that was a fiasco,” Jim said. He sat forward and buried his head in his hands.

Maude closed the door and rolled over to him. “Not a fiasco, Jim. An honest mistake. And even if this wasn’t J.P. trying to steal Olaf’s imaginary stash, it puts J.P. on notice that he won’t get away with it if he tries.” She patted Jim’s knee. “And I think you were incredibly smart and brave to set all this up and face off against such a large young man.”

“Thanks, Maude,” Jim said, raising his head. “But I do feel like an old fool. I should have just gone to the police when I first overheard the conversation between J.P. and Jeannie, I guess. But I wanted one more takedown—remind me of my glory days as sheriff.” He shook his head. “Well, now I’ll tell the police all about it, and they’ll take over the case.” He smiled ruefully. “I just hope they don’t charge me with a felony.”

“If they do, I’ll come visit you in jail,” Maude said. “Don’t bite into the cake I bring you. Might break your dentures.”

They looked at each other and laughed. “Thanks, Maude. I’ll take my leave now and let you get some sleep.” Jim winced as he slowly rose from the chair and leaned on his cane. “Guess this took something out of me. See you tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 25

Ed’s phone chimed. Kate let it ring twice then checked to see who was calling him. They were staying at the Radisson Hotel in downtown Denver after delivering the bones to Dr. Wellman’s office at the University of Colorado medical school. Kate recognized the number—Angie’s. She swiped Accept.

“Hi, Angie. Ed just took our luggage down to the truck. He should be back in a couple minutes. How’s everything going there?”

“Oh, the usual—chaos, confusion, Aunt Maude involved in a police case last night,” Angie said.

Kate sat down on the bed. “This I have to hear! Can’t wait till Ed finds out. She’s driving him crazy, generally. Did she get arrested?”

Angie related the story of the previous night’s events. “I don’t think she’s in danger of jail, Kate. But Sheriff Mike’s going over to the Morning Sun this morning to interview her about her role in it. And Bob, who’s the acting chief while Matt’s on his honeymoon, was the lead officer on duty. He told me she was dressed all in black—black knit cap, black pants and sweater—as though she was on a secret mission. So she was definitely involved somehow.”

The door to the hotel room opened. Kate said, “You can fill me in on the details when I get back.” She handed the phone to Ed. “It’s Angie. You may need to arrange bail for Aunt Maude.” Kate fell back on the bed and laughed as he took the phone.

“What’s she done now?”

“How about conspiracy to kidnap? Illegal surveillance? Uh, maybe false reporting, I’m not sure. Sheriff Mike’s interrogating her now, so there might be more. Who knows?” Angie giggled. “Actually it’s not that bad.” She repeated the story she’d told Kate. “Maude’s involved, but I don’t think there are any charges that would stick.”

Ed scowled at Kate, who was still laughing. “Do I need to get her a lawyer? If not, I’ll wait till we get home and talk to her. Who’s the guy she was helping?”

“Jim Harrington, one of the other Morning Sun residents. Apparently, he overheard the receptionist and J.P. McGill talking and concluded that J.P. was planning to break in and steal some money from one of the other residents.”

“Yeah, I know who he is. Good guy. Former sheriff over in Sublette County.” Ed sighed. “Okay, we’ll be back tomorrow night. Kate wants to make a detour at Casper to visit Independence Rock and see the signatures of all the people who traveled the Oregon Trail. Anything else you called for?”

“Just to check on whether you delivered the bones to Dr. Wellman. Any problems?”

“Nope. She was in a faculty meeting, but I hand-delivered them to her teaching assistant and got a signature. Chain of custody maintained and verified. She called me after she looked over the bones and said to tell you it looks like extracting the DNA sample will work. She’s scheduling the forensic autopsy and will send you a date.”

“Sounds good,” Angie said. “We’ll see you Thursday morning then. We need to meet with Barb to go over the financials for the last quarter. Can you be here by ten?”

“No problem. Oh, I almost forgot. Dr. Wellman’s assistant said to tell you that it would be a big help if you could send her some pictures of the site where the bones were found. And also pictures of anything found with the bones. I told her I thought there wasn’t much.”

Angie thought for a moment. She knew there was a map in the safe that showed where the bones were found, but she wasn’t sure it was detailed enough to pinpoint the site. “I’ll email her about it. It probably would be more useful for someone with real crime investigation experience to go. But I’ll see what I can do.”

The conversation over, Ed hung up and looked at Kate. “Ready to go see some pioneer signatures?”

“Ready!” Kate picked up her jacket, and they headed to the truck.

###

Maude and Jim arrived at the Marietta police station in the back of Red’s cruiser. He opened the back passenger door for Jim, then went to the trunk and unfolded Maude’s wheelchair. She slid out of the cruiser seat and onto the wheelchair and wheeled after Jim. He held the door open for her as she threw a dark glance at Red. “Gestapo,” she muttered.

“Now, Maude. Be polite,” Jim said, one hand on Maude’s shoulder. “He’s just doing his job.”

“Well, we wouldn’t be here if we weren’t doing his job,” Maude replied. She smiled at the police department receptionist. “Hi, Agnes. Good to see you. How’s the grandbaby doing?”

Agnes looked up from the computer and grinned. “So here’s the dangerous felons, huh?” She stood up and came around the reception desk. She looked Maude and Jim up and down then smiled. “Don’t look too dangerous to me. Take a seat, Jim. Sheriff Mike is talking with Bob, but they’ll be out in a few minutes.” Agnes moved a chair to make a space for Maude’s wheelchair as Red left the office to go back on patrol. She sat down next to Maude, rifled in her purse, and pulled out a plastic folder full of pictures of her granddaughter. “She’s six months now, cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Having grandkids is the reward for all the trouble of raising kids!”

Maude looked at the pictures with feigned interest, adding appropriate comments as Agnes chattered. She handed the pictures back. “Still doesn’t make me wish I’d had kids. But I guess the human race won’t die out this year.” She rolled her wheelchair over to the long hallway behind the reception desk. “I think I’ll go tell them we’re here. I don’t want to be late for lunch. We’re having chicken enchiladas today, and I have a bottle of Sriracha sauce in my room.”

Jim put a hand on Maude’s wheelchair handles. “They’re in a meeting, Agnes said. Let’s just wait till they come out. Okay?”

Maude looked at him in disgust. “Ever the law and order guy, aren’t you?” She shrugged and backed her wheelchair up into the reception area. As she stopped, she heard a door open and voices from the hall. A minute later, Sheriff Mike, Bob, and Olaf appeared.

Olaf went to Jim. “I want to thank you, Jim, for watching my room to catch anyone breaking in.” He shook Jim’s hand then turned to Maude. “And you, too, Maude. I understand you’re the one who called 9-1-1.” He reached for her hand and gently squeezed it. “I’ve told the sheriff and Chief Harper, my grandson is not going to press charges against either of you.” He laughed. “Though you did give him quite a scare!” Olaf bade the room farewell and went out the front door.

“Well! That takes care of that,” Maude said. “No charges, and we’re out of here.” She wheeled herself toward the door.

“Hold on there,” Sheriff Johnson said, his voice stern. “Olaf’s grandson isn’t willing to charge you with assault with a weapon, but there are other charges we need to discuss. You’re not off the hook yet.”

Bob nodded. “We think there may be more to this than just a possible theft. Let’s talk in the chief’s office.” He motioned toward the hallway and led the way.

“This better not take long,” Maude sputtered as she began wheeling toward the hall. Jim limped behind her, leaning on his cane.

Bob opened the door to Matt’s office and went in. Since his appointment, Matt had re-organized, and the office now held neat filing cabinets that corralled the overflowing paper that had been everywhere with the previous chief. Bright posters of Spider-Man and Black Panther provided color and a touch of humor. Bob lifted one of the three chairs in front of his desk and placed it beside the file cabinets so there was room for Maude’s wheelchair. Sheriff Johnson settled a haunch on the edge of the desk as Bob went behind it and sat down.

“There’s still charges of impersonating a police officer and unauthorized surveillance against the two of you,” Johnson said. “We’re willing to drop those charges in exchange for some help.”

Jim gave a slight nod, while Maude sat forward in her chair. “What kind of help? For what? Why?” Maude demanded.

“As Bob said, we think there’s more going on here than a single theft.” Johnson looked at Jim and Maude, a serious expression on his face. “J.P. was the source of the financial scam, through Bobby Lee. The financial scam required some skills with computers to alter the transfer directions. The McGills run a stable of people who provide, among other things, a computer help desk.”

“But Bobby Lee told me that J.P. lost money to the animal shelter scam too,” Maude protested. “And I can’t believe Bobby Lee would do something like this. You’re saying he’s in on it?”

“Not necessarily,” Bob said. “J.P. might have used him—without Bobby Lee’s knowledge—to identify potential targets for the scam.”

Jim looked at Maude. “But, Maude, think. Who gave you the electronic transfer forms? And said he’d see that it got to the animal shelter organization? I’d be suspicious that whoever that person was, they probably were in on it. Got a cut of the money.”

Maude shook her head emphatically. “No! I can’t believe Bobby Lee would steal from me. He’s rich. Look at that car he drives and how he dresses. He doesn’t need to scam other old people!”

“Need may not have anything to do with it, Maude,” Jim said gently. “Maybe he’s just bored or enjoys the feeling that he’s still able to put something over on people.”

“Or he might be willing to help his grandson,” Bob said. “J.P. seems to feel he’s undervalued by Lucas McGill, who controls the family business. And J.P.’s Bobby Lee’s grandson. They’re close. Visits him a lot at the Morning Sun.”

“If Bobby Lee is innocent, an investigation would clear the air, Maude. Sheriff Johnson, what exactly do you want from us?” Jim asked.

“Well, first, I want no more guns being drawn and pointed at anyone. And no more attempts at taking down criminals—or people you think are criminals—on your own.” Jim raised his hands in surrender and nodded agreement. Maude shrugged. “I’ll take that for agreement,” Johnson said. “What we want is for you two to be our eyes and ears at Morning Sun. Watch the reception area and keep a notebook to document J.P.’s visits to the facility. Date, time, where he goes, who he talks to. If you overhear anything he says, write down what he said and who he said it to. Same for Bobby Lee and any other McGill who visits the facility.”

“Anyone else we should watch?” Maude asked. “This sounds like fun! Undercover operatives, right?” She sat up straight in her chair, eager to hear more.

“Don’t get carried away,” Johnson said. “I’m not asking you to do anything except watch and report anything odd you may see.” He gave her a wry smile. “No attacking anyone with your wheelchair, okay?”

“Best weapon I have,” Maude chortled. “So how often do we report in? Is there a secret code we should use for our notes? You know, so they don’t suspect?”

Jim looked up at the ceiling, then reached out and took Maude’s hand. “Don’t worry, Sheriff. I’ll restrain her if need be. We’ll be happy to help. And I promise: no guns, no attempt to make a citizen’s arrest. Thank you for your leniency. I knew when I yelled it that I shouldn’t have said ‘Police!’” He smiled ruefully. “But after so many years in law enforcement, it just came out.”

Sheriff Johnson and Bob watched as Jim and Maude left the office.

“Are you sure this was a good idea, Mike?”

“Maybe not. This way, we can keep an eye on them though,” the sheriff said. “I’m more worried about Maude than I am about Jim. Despite the dumb stunt he pulled, he’s an experienced officer, and I trust him to watch and record.”

“But can he control Maude? Ed says she’s unpredictable when she gets going. Asking her to be an undercover cop just plays to her worst inclinations.”

Sheriff Johnson shrugged. “How much harm can she do?”

CHAPTER 26

Frost coated the grass as Angie left the cabin Saturday morning. The sun was shining, but its weak rays didn’t touch the near-zero cold. Angie pulled a knit cap over her ears and wrapped her wool scarf more tightly around her neck. The two dogs were on their leashes, pulling and excited. “Heel!” Angie said, her voice stern. Both dogs paused then took their places on each side of her. “Good dogs.” The training was working, and Wrigley was now almost as obedient as Bernie. She patted each of them and opened the back door of the truck so they could jump in.

Matt, Kassie, and Fergie were already at Devils Tower when Angie arrived. She got out of her truck and walked over to their vehicle. Matt rolled down his window as Angie tapped it. She grinned at them. “Hey, you two look tan and happy. Must be hard to be back in this cold and snow after five days in Hawaii. Thanks for agreeing to help me with this when you’re still officially on your honeymoon.”

“Always ready for one of your mystery expeditions,” Matt said. “A hike and investigation? Sounds great! I mean, otherwise, we’d just spend the day wrapped up in cozy blankets watching college football and drinking hot cocoa.”

Kassie laughed and leaned toward the open window. “It should be fun, Angie, trying to find the exact spot where Maribelle was found. One of those stories to tell our grandchildren! But let’s get going. It starts getting dark by five-thirty.”

Angie had spent two hours with Sheriff Johnson the previous day, studying the map that indicated where the remains were found in 1935 alongside a current-day map. The original map was written in ink and contained extensive detail. The location was deep in the Bear Lodge Mountains, and the then-sheriff had noted several unusual rock formations, a deep ravine, and what he referred to as “an old Indian trail.” They had been able to narrow the site down to a roughly one-square-mile area with the help of Pork Guterman, who had hunted for over thirty years in the Bear Lodge. “One square mile doesn’t sound like much, but it’ll likely take us most of the daylight hours to find the spot,” Matt said.

Angie pulled her heavy coat tighter. “I wore thermal underwear and two pairs of socks with my heavy boots. Everything you told me. And I have a thermos of hot coffee and a compass and my phone GPS in my backpack.”

“Let’s go, then. We can get to about a half mile away on a BLM road. Then we go on foot and begin searching the area. Kassie’s laid it out in grids, and I brought walkie-talkies so we can keep in touch.” Matt pointed at a box on the dashboard.

“We’re not going to search together? Is that safe?” Angie stared at him, worried. “What if one of us runs into a mountain lion? Or a bear? Or falls down a ravine?”

“You’ll have the walkie-talkie and the dogs. Mountain lions usually avoid dogs, and there aren’t any bears around here,” Matt said. “It’ll be fine. I wouldn’t let Kassie do it if I was worried. Now let’s get on the road. It’s already 10:30.” He rolled up his window and backed up to make the turn onto the road.

Angie climbed back in her truck and followed him. The turnoff into the Bear Lodge Mountains was less than three miles. Two miles later, Matt slowed and stuck his hand out the window to point at a small green sign indicating a forest service road on the right. The new road was little more than a rough track, keeping their speed under fifteen miles an hour. The thick pine trees overhead allowed only dim light to penetrate. After twenty minutes, Matt pulled off. Angie stopped and looked for a sufficient open space to park. A few yards beyond Matt’s truck, she, too, pulled off the road.

Matt, Kassie, and Fergie were waiting by his truck when Angie and the dogs joined them. Matt and Kassie had backpacks, and Matt had a shovel anchored to his backpack. “Okay. Check your GPS now and mark this spot as ‘home.’ That way, if you get lost you can find your way back here. Half a mile in, we should be in the area we need to search. Then we split up. Hang onto the dogs. We don’t want to lose one to lions or tigers or bears, oh my,” Matt said, laughing. He turned and led the way into the woods, Angie and Kassie trailing behind.

“Aren’t you nervous about searching alone?” Angie looked at Kassie. “Maybe we should be a team.”

Kassie shrugged. “Not really. Matt has it all planned out. We’ll mostly be close enough to each other that a scream would bring one of us running. Besides, other than maybe falling down a hill or tripping over a dead tree, there’s not much to be scared of here. We can’t get lost with the GPS to guide us.” She smiled at Angie and followed Matt.

When Matt stopped walking, he checked his GPS coordinates. “We’re here. The plan is for each of us to cover 200 yards per grid, walk horizontally 200 yards, move forward six feet and walk back 200 yards. Then forward again six feet and so on. Keep your eyes peeled for depressions that could be the entrance to a small cave or mine shaft, and watch for any signs of a yellow flag on a wood stake. The directions left in the safe say the site was marked with a yellow flag. I doubt it’ll still be here, but if you find it, holler. Let’s go!”

Matt turned to his right and began pacing off the yards. Angie watched as Kassie and Fergie moved away from her. Within a few seconds, the trees and underbrush made it impossible to see Matt, and Kassie was barely visible. The walkie-talkie in her pocket squawked, and Angie pulled it out.

“Everyone in position? I’ll ask for a check-in every fifteen minutes,” Matt’s tinny voice broke the silence of the forest.

“In position,” Angie replied, pushing down the red button on the walkie-talkie. She heard Kassie echo her words. Bernie and Wrigley looked at her. “Guess we better get moving.” Angie’s head swiveled back and forth, back and forth, as she began pacing off her assigned grid. The silence around her was unnerving, and she paused frequently when that silence was broken by animals scurrying through the underbrush. The dogs walked sedately, sniffing the ground and the air. Fifteen minutes later, Angie was startled by the noise of the walkie-talkie again. Matt was checking in, as promised, and announced he’d finished the first 200- by 200-yard search grid. Kassie reported that she was nearly through with her first grid. Angie pushed the red button and reported she was only about half through, she thought.

“Speed it up some, Angie. We need to cover all this area before dark,” Matt said. “Over and out.”

Angie moved on, picking up the pace. She was halfway through her second grid when Matt called again. She tucked the walkie-talkie back in her pocket and moved on. She was into the third grid when Bernie stopped suddenly. A deep rumbling growl emerged from his throat as he stood rigid, hackles raised, and stared into a tight copse of trees. Wrigley whined and moved behind Angie’s knees. “What’s wrong, Bernie?” Angie peered anxiously at the trees that had drawn Bernie’s attention. She saw no sign of movement but bent down to pick up a small rock. She stood and lobbed it into the trees, then shrieked as a thin, ragged-looking coyote burst out of the copse and ran away. Bernie and Wrigley barked wildly and yanked their leashes, and the walkie-talkie squawked.

“What’s going on?” Matt’s tinny voice was loud.

“Just flushed a coyote,” Angie said, her voice high-pitched and anxious. “Bernie alerted to it, and it ran. Good thing I have the leashes tied to my wrist or the dogs would be after it.” She could hear Matt and Kassie laughing.

“Not funny, guys!” Angie put the walkie-talkie back in her pocket and told the dogs to heel. They reluctantly returned to her side, and she resumed pacing off the grid.

Three hours later, Kassie announced she found something. “There’s a fallen stake here and a few yellow scraps. I think this is it!” She gave her GPS coordinates, and Matt and Angie converged on her within minutes.

The spot where Kassie stood was at the rocky edge of a deep ravine. Vegetation was thick, but sharp granite fragments littered the bottom. A smooth weathered stake, and scraps of what remained of the yellow flag, lay halfway down the side of the ravine. “I haven’t tried to check it out. It looks like there’s an opening there, but the weeds have grown into it. Might be snakes or something living there.” She glanced at Matt. “I thought you should be the one to explore.”

Matt put his backpack on the ground and unzipped it. He took out thick leather gloves and pulled them on, then hoisted the backpack and moved down into the ravine. When he reached the stake and yellow scraps, he stopped. “Kassie, take a couple pictures of the stake and the hole. We’ll need to document everything we find. And toss the tarp in your backpack down.”

Kassie rummaged in the backpack and found the tarp. She tossed it down to Matt then took her phone from her coat pocket and began recording. “I have you on video. That way you can talk about what you’re doing and anything you find.” Angie pulled her phone out and began recording also.

Matt spread out the tarp and used his knife to begin cutting back the underbrush that had grown around the opening. He stacked the cuttings on one edge of the tarp, then carefully examined the ground around the hole for any potential items of interest. “Okay, nothing here. But it looks like this is a mine shaft,” he announced. He held his hands up and moved them apart to indicate the opening was more than four feet wide. “I’m going to probe it with the shovel.”

He unhooked the shovel from his backpack and inserted it into the hole. “Haven’t hit the bottom yet.” He unzipped the backpack and took out a flashlight, then knelt next to the opening. Shining the light downward, he pushed the shovel deeper and to the left. A loud clang rang out as he struck rock. More probing revealed the hole was solid rock on the left side, around two yards wide and nearly six feet deep. Matt had to lay prone on the ground and stretch his arms through the opening before the tip of the shovel finally hit bottom. He stood and pulled the shovel up. Laying it on the ground, he said, “One of you come down here. We need to get closer pictures of this.”

Kassie handed Fergie’s leash to Angie and began carefully side-stepping down the ravine. When she reached the hole, Matt turned on the flashlight again and pointed into the opening.

“I’m going to widen the opening now and make it large enough that I can climb down and check what’s at the bottom,” Matt said, standing up. He dug for a few minutes, dumping each shovel load onto the tarp for later examination. When he was done, he picked up the flashlight and shone it down into the hole. “Looks like just dirt down there, but it must be where they found the bones,” he said. “I’m going down to dig around with the spade.” Kassie handed him the small spade from her backpack and watched as he sat down by the opening, legs swinging, then dropped into it. He looked up at Kassie, his head a few inches from the top. “Pretty tight, but I’m going to squat down and sift through the dirt. If there’s anything here, I’ll find it. Toss me one of the plastic bags.”

Kassie unzipped her backpack again and found the plastic bags. She threw one down to him as she saw the flashlight beam come on. Matt dropped to his knees, shining the light slowly around the hole. He opened the plastic bag mouth and began scooping dirt from the floor of the hole into the bag.

Angie had watched all this from above. She held Fergie’s leash tightly in one hand. The loops on the ends of Bernie and Wrigley’s leashes were on her wrists. She leaned over and asked Kassie, “Is he finding anything? I can’t see him.”

“Not that I can tell,” Kassie answered. “But he’s scooping dirt into a bag. We’ll need to go through it when he gets done.” She looked up at Angie and let out a shriek. “Angie! Watch out! The edge you’re standing on is crumbling. Get back!”

Angie felt the ground under her feet shift, and she and the dogs began sliding down. The drop was only about eight feet, but small rocks and dirt pelted her from above as she landed on her back at Kassie’s feet. She was still clutching Fergie’s leash, but Wrigley’s had slipped off her wrist. Angie reached out to try to grab her collar and discovered Bernie’s weight prevented her from extending her arm. Wrigley yelped as she landed, then leaped to her feet and scrambled up the side of the ravine and out of sight.

“What’s happening up there? I just got hit in the head with some stones,” Matt said, standing on tiptoe to peer over the edge of the hole.

“Are you okay?” Kassie bent over Angie, inspecting her for injuries. Angie nodded and sat up. “Angie and the dogs slid down the hill,” Kassie told Matt. “But Wrigley got away. We have to find her.” She helped Angie to her feet and brushed dirt and twigs off her coat.

“Okay, Angie, you go find Wrigley. Kassie can stay here and help me.” Matt’s head disappeared as he dropped down to begin sifting again.

Angie checked the GPS to be sure she had the location locked in, then she and Bernie began walking through the forest and calling Wrigley. Light snow was falling, and she tightened her scarf around her neck. She stopped and listened when she thought she heard barking to her right. “Wrigley! Wrigley, come!” She began jogging in the direction of the yelps, Bernie in the lead. After slipping and falling twice on the accumulating snow, she slowed to a walk. Wrigley’s barks were getting louder, guiding her toward the dog. She could see the thick underbrush shaking a few yards ahead and called again. Within seconds, Wrigley emerged in front of her. Her paws were covered with dirt and her tail was wagging frantically as she gave a sharp yelp of welcome. Bernie pulled ahead as they reached Wrigley.

“Wrigley, bad dog! Don’t ever run away like that again,” Angie said. She reached down to grab her collar. The pup yanked away and barked again, then disappeared into the hole she’d been digging. Angie walked closer and bent to push the brush away. Wrigley had dug nearly a foot deep under a large granite boulder. She managed to get a hand on her collar and pulled the dog to her. “What do you have? Drop it!” Wrigley whined but dropped the dirt-covered object in her mouth. Bernie moved forward and sniffed at what Wrigley had uncovered. Angie picked it up and wiped the mud off on her jeans, then flung it away. “Oh my God!” Wrigley scooped it up and sat, tail wagging happily, with a long bone clenched in her teeth.

Angie pulled out the walkie-talkie and told Kassie that Wrigley was found.

“Okay, see you back at the site,” Kassie answered.

Angie locked in the location on the GPS. She gingerly took the bone from Wrigley. “Come on, Wrigley,” she said, wrapping the end of the dog’s leash around her wrist. “We need to show this to Matt.” They headed back to the dig site.

“You found her, good,” Kassie said as she saw Angie and the dogs arrive. “Matt’s almost done down in the hole. He’s found a few buttons and, he thinks, some teeth and a few fragments of bone. Not much help, probably.”

Angie climbed down to the hole. “I think we’re going to be here awhile,” she said. She showed the bone to Kassie.

“Matt! Come up here. Now!” Kassie stepped back from the bone Angie proffered. “If that’s what it looks like, I’m not taking it,” she added, looking at Angie and putting both hands behind her back. “Give it to Matt.”

“Give what to me?” Matt said. His head was at the top of the hole. “Take this.” The plastic bag filled with dirt and potential evidence was tossed to the edge of the hole, then Matt climbed out.

“This,” Angie said. She handed him the bone. “I found Wrigley digging a hole about a quarter mile from here, and this is what she found.”

Matt looked at the dirty bone. “Could be a deer or some other large animal,” he said. “Let me clean it off.” He picked up a bottle of water and slowly poured it over the bone, then wiped it with a rag. “Definitely looks like a femur—thighbone—but human and deer femurs are about the same size. Most likely a deer, though.”

Angie let out a breath in relief. “Well, that makes me feel better. Carrying that thing was like . . . scary. I thought Wrigley had found another body!”

“Doubtful,” Matt said. “But I’ll take a look at where it was found and see if there’s other remains there. Did you mark the GPS location?”

“I did,” Angie said. She gave him the coordinates. “The snow’s getting heavier. Kassie and I can pack up here and load everything in your truck while you check it out.”

After Matt left, an evidence bag and shovel slung over his shoulder, Angie and Kassie re-packed the backpacks and lugged them and the evidence bags back to the trucks. “It’s really getting cold,” Kassie said. “I’m going to turn on the engine and the heat.” The two women got in the truck to warm up while waiting for Matt to return. It was nearly a half hour later when they spotted him coming out of the forest. His face was grim.

Matt tossed the shovel into the bed of the pickup truck then opened the back passenger door and set the evidence bag on the floor. Kassie got out of the driver’s seat, and Angie slid out of the truck.

“What did you find?” Kassie asked. “Was it a deer, like you thought?”

“No, there was a skull—a human skull. I excavated further than Wrigley had dug, and I think there’s a complete skeleton there, buried about two feet deep,” Matt said. “It’ll be dark in a half hour, so I covered it back up and tamped down the dirt over it. I’ll let Mike Johnson know tonight, and he’ll send someone up here to recover the entire body and any evidence.” He climbed into the truck. “Let’s go. The snow’s getting heavier, and I don’t want to be on these roads after dark.” Kassie got in, and Angie headed to her truck as Matt did a three-point turn onto the road and waited for her to follow.

CHAPTER 27

Matt was sitting at Angie’s desk when she arrived at the office on Monday. “About time you got here,” he said.

“I had to drop the dogs at the groomer this morning over in Spearfish. What’s up?” Angie took her coat off and tossed it on a chair. “And where’s Sam?”

“She went next door to get a cup of coffee. I think you’re working her too hard. She had her head on the desk and was sound asleep when I came in. I’m here to deliver the additional evidence we found up at the burial site to Ed. He’s going to drive it to Denver before the forensic exam,” Matt said. He pointed at a neatly wrapped package on the corner of Angie’s desk. “We have to maintain chain of custody on this, so I’ll have to wait till Ed gets here.”

Angie poked the small package with one finger. “What all did you find?”

“Not much. We strained all the dirt. A couple buttons and scraps of cloth and three small bones that the crew back in the thirties missed when they collected the remains. Mike thinks two of the bones are from fingers. The other one he’s not sure about, but he thinks it might be the hyoid bone. He’s not positive, though.”

“What’s a hyoid bone?”

“That’s the bone in your throat between the tongue and the larynx. I think it makes it possible to move your tongue.” Matt stood up. “Here’s Ed coming now.” He went into the front office as Ed stomped in.

“Snow, more snow, and I’m already tired of shoveling,” Ed growled. “I’d be in New Mexico by now enjoying the sunshine if it weren’t for Kate insisting we don’t go till after Christmas.” He took off his coat, scarf, and NRA hat and hung them on the coat hooks. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Ten minutes. Not a big deal,” Matt went in Angie’s office and picked up the package. “I just need you to sign for this. You’re going to stay over in Denver and observe the forensic autopsy, right?”

“Yeah,” Ed sighed. “I’m looking forward to that a lot more than I am to the ballet Kate’s found for us to go to tomorrow night. Apparently, the Denver Ballet Theatre is doing a dress rehearsal for The Nutcracker.” He grimaced as Matt laughed out loud. “Anyway, Dr. Wellman said she’d pack up everything at the end of the seminar, so I can bring drop the bones off in Cheyenne before I stop in Casper and deliver the DNA sample to Wyoming DNA Analytics.” He put up his hands. “I know, I know. I’ll be sure to get signatures to maintain chain of custody. Speaking of evidence, I hear you guys found another body. What’s the story on that?”

“Yeah, we spent most of yesterday excavating the bones. Looks like a near-complete skeleton. Mike laid it out and says he’s sure it’s a male, probably late teens or early twenties. And he doesn’t believe it’s Native American. I’m not sure what he’s going to do about it. You’ll have to ask him since it’s not in my jurisdiction.”

“I was meaning to talk to you about that,” Angie said. “We’ll want to do a story on the discovery. Ed, can you follow up with Sheriff Mike? I’m thinking that if it turns out the female remains are Maribelle’s, then this might be the young man who disappeared at the same time. Did Mike see anything that might indicate a violent death?”

“Skull fracture and a couple broken ribs,” Matt said. “But that could have come from a fall or a horse kicking him. Talk to Mike, and he’ll fill you in. I’ve got to get going. Thanks for doing this, Ed. Enjoy the ballet.” Matt picked up his jacket and put it on. “I’m heading to the office.”

“Hey, Matt. Be sure to check your email later today. I’ll be sending the advice column,” Angie said as Matt opened the door. He nodded and went out into the cold. “Brrr, it’s really cold in here,” Angie said. “I’m going to close my door and turn on the space heater.” Ed didn’t look up, just made a gesture and bent over his keyboard.

###

“Oh, stop your grumbling,” Kate said. “The Nutcracker is a classic, and everyone should see it at least once in their lifetime.

“I could have watched a squirrel cracking a nut in my own back yard,” Ed retorted. “And I would have enjoyed it more!”

Ed maneuvered into the right lane and pulled into the parking lot for the University of Colorado Health Sciences Center. He backed into a parking place near Building 407. “That’s the building Dr. Wellman said her office is in.” Ed checked the clock on the dashboard. “And we’re just on time. The autopsy seminar is scheduled to begin at eleven. Are you sure you want to sit in on this?”

“Absolutely,” Kate said. “Watch the science unfold and tell us everything there is to know about someone who died almost a hundred years ago? It’ll be fascinating. And given the age of the remains, there’s no blood, gore, or organs to see.” She opened the door of the truck. “Let’s go, we want to get a good seat.”

Ed followed Kate into the building and up a flight of stairs to Room 222. “This is it,” Kate said. She knocked twice and opened the door when she heard a loud “Come in!”

Dr. Wellman was sitting at her desk, assembling a black bag full of equipment. Ed was surprised at her appearance. Bright red-framed glasses perched on the end of her nose, and curly blond hair sprung haphazardly around her face. She brushed her hair off her forehead and stood up, revealing she was under five feet in height. “You must be Ed, right? And who is this?” She nodded at Kate.

“My wife, Kate Korovsky. She’s hoping it’s okay to sit in on the autopsy.”

“Of course, of course. I only have seven students in my forensic pathology class, and the room holds a hundred.” She turned to Kate. “Do you have any kind of science background? Anatomy?”

Kate laughed. “Other than high school biology? No, I’m afraid I don’t. I’m an economist. But I’ve always been interested in science.”

“I only ask so I’ll know to explain terms that you might not be familiar with. If I use a word you don’t know, just raise your hand and I’ll clarify. And call me Maddie—both of you,” Wellman added, with a nod at Ed. “Now, let’s get down to the pathology lecture hall. My research assistant has laid out the bones, and I have all my equipment here.” She picked up the black bag and went out the office door, followed by Ed and Kate. “Thanks for dropping off the additional evidence from where the body was found. Sorry I was in class and couldn’t come out and meet you then. I just signed the receipt and had it brought out to you.” They reached the ground floor and turned right to another set of steep, narrow stairs leading down to the basement of the building.

“Was there anything helpful in it?” Ed was breathing heavily by the time they reached the lower floor. Kate was several steps behind him.

Wellman stopped and turned to Ed. “Oh, yes! There was, and I’ll make the big reveal during the autopsy,” she said, smiling broadly. “This is a teaching session, so we’ll see if any of my students figure it out before I announce my findings on cause of death. There are a couple of excellent students in this class, so they may.” She resumed her quick pace. The poorly lit hall was painted a dark olive green. “Depressing down here, isn’t it? I keep telling admin we should paint it bright yellow, but they don’t agree.” She stopped outside a door marked “Pathology Lecture Room, Room 0-17” and pulled the door open.

The cavernous room was dark, lit only by a single dangling bulb that illuminated a long concrete table in its center. Rows of desks and chairs were arranged in a square around the center area. Ed and Kate stared at the table, which held an apparently complete skeleton. “Is that our body?” Ed gestured to the table.

“Yep, that’s it.” Wellman reached behind the door and switched on fluorescent lights. “Rajesh Agarwal, my research assistant, should be here. He’s a terrific fourth-year medical student.” She looked around the room. “No students yet. That’s good. I need to lay out the new bones you brought me and pull over a small table to put the other evidence—cloth fragments from her clothes, the ring, and leather pieces from her shoes.” She dashed down the aisle between the rows of desks and pulled one of the desks to the side of the table.

“She’s very energetic, isn’t she?” Kate said. “And a lot younger than I expected. I bet her students love her.” She walked to the first row, sat down at a desk, and pulled a notebook and pen from her purse.

Ed went directly to the table. He walked slowly around it, examining the skull, shoulders and arm bones, ribs, pelvis, leg bones, and the feet. “Is it complete? It looks like it is, but I’m probably missing something.”

Dr. Wellman looked up from the desk where she was arranging fragments of cloth. “Nearly complete. There seem to be two teeth missing, and several wrist and finger bones on the right side—she could have lost the teeth before the time she died. Also missing are the lunate and hamate of her right wrist, and three phalanges—finger bones. There were five phalanges missing, but there were two in the evidence package you brought me yesterday. Along with the hyoid.” She joined Ed at the autopsy table and pointed out the spaces where bones were missing. “Oh, here’s Rajesh! And the first of my students.”

All of the students arrived within the next five minutes and surrounded the autopsy table. Ed remained at the side of the table while Kate sat, poised to take notes. “All right, everyone,” Dr. Wellman said. “Let’s get started. Amos, you’re up. Summarize what we know about this body before examining it.” Her student quickly provided the details—location, environment of setting, date found, completeness of the skeleton, and auxiliary evidence found with the remains.

“Good. Any questions? So first, let’s focus on gender, age, and race. What are we looking for?” Several students volunteered the necessary indicators for age, gender, and race. “Okay. Now take a few minutes to examine the bones and look for those indicators—pelvic structure, thickness of bones, condition and shape of teeth—a few are missing, but that could be prior to death, so it’s not determinative.” The students slowly moved around the table, inspecting the bones, after which ensued a discussion of the evidence and conclusions that could be drawn. “Okay,” Wellman said. “Very good. So we’re all in agreement then: female, Caucasian, and late teens to early twenties.”

Over the next hour, Wellman led the class through a series of questions and provided guidance that encouraged the students to examine, discuss, and either reach a conclusion or determine that there was inadequate information to provide a clear answer. The issue of when the woman had died was one of those that could not be answered with certainty, the students agreed. “Right,” Dr. Wellman said. “These bones were found eighty-five years ago. From the stage of decomposition of the body, it’s clear it had been in the earth for some period before that. What are the indicators for estimating how long the body had been buried? Helen?”

A thin dark-haired student raised her head and listed several indicators of decomposition time. “Right,” Wellman said. “So about eight to twelve years, based on this skeleton. What factors affect the rate of decomposition? Dustin?”

“Temperature and humidity,” Dustin responded. Wellman waited before responding to him. He frowned, then added, “Oh, and type of soil.”

“Good. Bodies decompose more slowly in colder temperatures. This body was buried in the mountains in Wyoming, where it’s colder than average. Higher humidity is associated with faster decomposition, and Wyoming has low humidity. So lower temperature and lower humidity suggest slower decomposition, moving us toward the higher end of the average eight to twelve years for total decomposition. Dustin indicated soil composition earlier. But there’s one other factor that may be important.” Wellman looked around. “Anyone?” No one responded, so she went on. “The depth at which the body is buried is the other factor to consider. Let’s start with soil composition. The more acidic the soil is, the faster decomposition occurs. I checked with our folks over in the agriculture department, and they told me that northeast Wyoming soil tends to have quite low acidity. That tells us, again, that the longer time period for decomposition of this body is likely. Lastly, the body was buried in a shallow grave in a mine shaft at the bottom of a ravine, according to the note written at the time the remains were first found. A shallow grave generally suggests faster decomposition. But we don’t know how deep the ravine was, so we can’t really estimate the extent to which the shallow grave may have affected decomposition time.”

The seven students around her nodded and made notes. “Okay, who wants to estimate the number of years the body was in the ground?” Wellman looked around and saw seven hands up. “Easy one, huh?” She pointed at Helen.

“All the factors suggest the higher end of the time needed for decomposition. I’d say eleven or twelve years, maybe even a little longer,” Helen said in a timid voice. The other students were nodding as she spoke.

“I agree. Anyone disagree?” No hands went up. “Now to the fun part. What killed this young woman? Accident? Suicide? Homicide? Natural causes? What do the bones tell us?” Wellman smiled and waited for volunteers.

“Accident,” Amos finally said.

“Justify,” Wellman replied.

“Broken femur suggests a fall into the ravine that broke her leg, and she couldn’t get out.”

“Any counters?” Wellman asked.

An older student, gray-haired, who hadn’t spoken up before, raised his hand. “She was under a foot or two of dirt. It’s not like she could have buried herself.”

“Good point. But it’s possible that dirt fell into the mine shaft over the twelve years between her death and when she was found.” Wellman looked around the table. “Who thinks it was an accident? Raise your hand.” Five of the students raised their hands.

“Any votes for natural causes? Or suicide? No? What about homicide?”

Dustin raised his hand. “I think homicide might be possible. The hyoid bone looked damaged.”

Wellman’s eyes lit up and she grinned. “I was hoping one of you would pick up on that. The hyoid bone is small and lies in the neck—just under the tongue and above the third cervical vertebra. Given its position, it’s very rare for it to be fractured accidentally. Research studies indicate that homicide, traumatic injury—for instance, an automobile accident—or suicide by hanging are the usual causes of hyoid bone fracture. It’s found in thirty-four percent of cases of manual strangulation. Good catch, Dustin.” The students around the table jostled for position and leaned over to more closely study the small horseshoe-shaped bone.

Wellman gave them a few minutes then asked, “How many of you think the cause of death is homicide?” Everyone except Dustin raised their hand. “Dustin? Why don’t you think it’s homicide?”

Dustin frowned. “Well, it could be homicide. It probably is. But there’s a possibility that she hit a rock or something else hard that damaged her neck when she fell. It’s unlikely, but I don’t believe we can say definitely that it’s homicide.” He slowly shook his head.

Wellman regarded him approvingly. “You’ll make a good forensic investigator, Dustin.” She looked around the table. “With a completely skeletonized body, especially one that shows signs of other traumatic injury, we aren’t able to say conclusively that this woman died from manual strangulation. If the body was fairly fresh, we could look for other signs: bruises or ligature marks on the neck, petechial hemorrhages of the eyes, a swollen tongue. But the broken hyoid is the only evidence to suggest strangulation as the cause of death in this case. So we need to deem the cause of death as probable homicide.”

She stepped back from the table and picked up the black bag she’d set on a chair. “Now, on to the next step, extracting DNA.” She nodded at Ed, who was standing near her at the table. “This gentleman is Ed Majewcik, a deputy sheriff from Crook County, Wyoming. And sitting over there is his wife, Kate. They’re here to transfer the remains back to the medical examiner’s office. And they’re going to deliver the DNA sample to Wyoming DNA Analytics in Casper. Ed, why don’t you give some background to my students while I prepare the DNA sample extraction?”

Ed cleared his throat, uncertain where to start. “Well, it all started with a letter to an advice column in one of our local newspapers.” He went on to explain in detail the family searching for a missing schoolteacher from ninety-some years earlier, the surprise finding of the bones in an old safe, and the plan to identify whether the remains found were those of the missing woman. “We’ve already obtained a DNA sample from the younger sister of the missing teacher. The DNA Dr. Wellman is extracting will be compared with the sister’s DNA to make a final identification. We’re hoping it’s positive, and the family will, at last, be able to know Maribelle’s fate.”

The students had been listening avidly as Ed related the story. He stopped for a minute then added, “Your examination confirms several of the details of the missing teacher. She was female, obviously, age nineteen, and Caucasian. The DNA test will tell us the rest.” He paused again for dramatic tension. “And now we’ve found a second body near the site where Maribelle—if it is Maribelle—was found. Did I mention that the oldest son of the family she lived with disappeared at the same time? Well, he did. And some people, at the time, thought the two of them had run off together. If these bones are Maribelle’s, we’re thinking there were two murders. And even though they occurred nearly a hundred years ago, our sheriff believes it’s important to treat every homicide with respect. It’s unlikely the perpetrator is still alive after all these years, but it’s still a case, and we’ll carry it through to wherever the evidence leads.”

The students applauded then stopped at a loud noise. Dr. Wellman had donned a plastic coverall and latex gloves. She stood at the foot of the autopsy table, holding up a bone cutter that was vibrating rapidly. She stopped, then held up a single tooth. “Watch closely as I cut into this molar and remove the material. Remember, utmost care must be taken to ensure no cross-contamination occurs between me, or any of us, and the sample I’m extracting.” She proceeded to use the bone cutter to slice the tooth into two pieces, then used a scalpel to remove the inner material. She placed the material in one of the vials. “The chemicals in the vial work to separate the DNA from the other materials.” Wellman sealed the top of the vial and held it up. “Voila! Our DNA sample will be ready for testing tomorrow.” She looked at Ed and Kate. “Chain of custody, right? I’ll now turn this over to you and sign off.”

Ed turned to Kate, who pulled the chain of custody form from her notebook. Dr. Wellman signed it then handed the vial to Ed. She looked around the table. “That’s it, guys. We’ll discuss further at our next class.”

###

Four hours later, Ed and Kate had delivered the bones to the medical examiner’s office and the DNA sample to Wyoming DNA Analytics in Casper and were headed up I-25 on their way home. “That was fascinating,” Kate said. “I really learned a lot, didn’t you?”

“Enough to know I’m glad there are scientists who know how to do all that,” Ed said. “But I don’t have aspirations to be a forensic pathologist. This autopsy was very clean, but imagine trying to determine time and cause of death when a body has been floating in a river for a week. Not nearly as pleasant an experience.”

“I imagine you’re right. But still, I’m going to be doing some reading in the scientific literature. To learn more.” Kate tilted her seat back. “But now I’m going to take a nap. Wake me when we get to Marietta.”

CHAPTER 28

“It’s here!” Ed strolled into the Times office and waved an envelope at Angie and Sam. “The DNA results are back.”

Angie jumped up from the seat next to Sam. “You just dropped it off on Monday. That’s fast.”

“They said it should only take twenty-four to forty-eight hours to determine whether the two samples are a match.” Ed handed the envelope to Angie. “Here, you do the honors.”

Ed and Sam crowded around Angie as she slipped a finger under the edge of the envelope flap and ripped it open. She slowly unfolded the letter inside and read. “It’s a match. The lab says it’s a sibling match.”

They were silent for a moment, then Sam cheered. “You did it, Angie! You found Maribelle for her family.”

Angie nodded. “We did it, didn’t we? All of us. I can’t believe it.” She laid the letter on Sam’s desk. “But now I have to call the Spencer family and tell them that, according to the professor, she was probably murdered.” She glanced at Ed. “Unless you think the police should notify them?”

“Do you want me to ask Mike what the protocol is? It is a police case, even though it’s so old. He might think he should do the notification.” Ed shook his head. “But I doubt it. It’s not like he’s actively pursuing the case.”

Angie sighed. “You’re probably right. I have to go over to Sundance for the county medical board meeting this afternoon. I’ll stop by the sheriff’s office and talk to him myself.”

“Suit yourself. What do you have for me today?” Ed sat down at his desk and leaned back in the chair.”

“I need you to go over the financials that Barb dropped off. I haven’t had a chance to review them closely, but revenues are down and costs are up. We’re going to have to make some adjustments if things don’t change. Also, you haven’t sent me your response to this week’s advice column. I need it back this evening so I can finalize the layout.”

As Angie started back to her office, her cellphone rang. She checked the caller ID— George Potts from the Gillette fathers’ rights group. She swiped Accept and dropped into her chair. “Hey, George. How are you?”

“Doing fine, Angie. I’m coming over to Sundance this afternoon for a meeting at the courthouse.” He hesitated a moment and then went on. “I was wondering if you would be available for dinner tonight.” He paused again. “A friend date, in case you’re not clear on that. I’ve really enjoyed talking with you about fathers’ rights issues, and I’d like to get to know you better.” Angie could hear a smile in his voice as he added, “I heard what you said the last time we met—nothing romantic, just some good food and conversation.”

Angie thought before replying. She had enjoyed the interactions she’d had with George. He was intelligent, passionate about his cause, and amusing. And it didn’t hurt that he was attractive and charming, even if she wasn’t looking for a romantic partner. Well, why not? Good food and good conversation sound good. And it’s clear that Nick is drawing away from me. We haven’t talked by phone in a week, and our last conversation was awkward. “I’d like that, George. I have to be in Sundance this afternoon for a meeting too. It should be over by six.”

“Great! Let’s meet at the Longhorn Grill just after six, then.” His voice dropped to an intimate pitch. “I’m really looking forward to it.”

Angie’s thoughts were whirling as she hung up. She’d agreed to the dinner on the spur of the moment. Now she wasn’t sure it was a good idea. I still love Nick. Even if it’s not going to happen, I’m not ready to disentangle emotionally. It’s not fair to George to let him think I’m open to a relationship right now. But . . . maybe I could be? She put the phone down and turned to her computer. “I’ll just be honest with George tonight and remind him where things stand. We can go from there,” Angie said quietly to herself. She opened a blank document and began writing the update on the identification of Maribelle and her cause of death.

###

Agnes was on the phone when Angie arrived at the sheriff’s office. She waved at Angie and gestured toward the hall behind her. “He’s expecting you. Go on back.”

Sheriff Johnson stood as Angie appeared in his doorway. “Hi, Angie. Always nice to see you, except when you bring me problems. What’s up?” His desk was piled with leaning stacks of paper, which overflowed the available space and continued onto the floor. Only one of the two chairs in front of his desk was free of paper, and there were two books on the seat.

“Okay, if I sit down?” At the sheriff’s nod, Angie carefully took the books off the seat, set them on the floor, and sat down. “We got the DNA results back. The body is definitely Maribelle Spencer. I brought you a copy.” She opened her purse and extracted the report.

Sheriff Johnson skimmed it, nodding. He put it on top of a pile of papers. “One mystery solved, I guess. Let me have Agnes make a copy of the forensic autopsy report for you. It just came yesterday.” He stepped out of his office and toward the reception area. When he returned, he sat down behind his desk. “Agnes will have the copy for you when you leave. I assume you’ll be writing a story for the newspaper about identifying the remains and the cause of death?”

Angie nodded.

“You do know there’s not a chance in hell that we’ll ever figure out who killed her? And likely the same for the young man whose bones we found buried nearby,” Mike said. “Though we do know the cause of death—or the almost certain cause of death—for the man. The coroner says he suffered multiple injuries: several broken ribs, femur fracture, and the back of his skull was crushed by a heavy object. We found a large rock under the remains with brown stains on it. The coroner tested it and said it was human blood, so we probably have the murder weapon. But, assuming it’s related to the Maribelle death—which we don’t know—those were violent times. The time frame means it’s a really cold case.”

“Can you give me a copy of the coroner’s report? I’d like to include that information in my story too.” She saw the sheriff frown. “I know, I know. It’ll be a straight, ‘here’s the facts’ story. I won’t speculate about who he might be or anything else. Though I’ve read Maribelle’s diary, and she mentions Earl Lee McGill several times. She says he makes her uncomfortable and spends a lot of time hanging around the schoolhouse.”

Sheriff Mike groaned. “Not the McGills. Anybody but the McGills. Right now I’ve got two ongoing investigations involving members of that family. They’ll yell persecution if I suddenly begin investigating whether one of their family members murdered a schoolteacher ninety years ago.” He glared at Angie. “You are not to mention McGill in your story.”

Angie smiled at him. “Of course not. Although Bobby Lee did tell me that he remembered being told that his brother, Earl Lee, was sweet on the teacher that disappeared.” She stopped, seeing the expression of frustration on Sheriff Mike’s face. “No, I won’t mention McGills in the story on Maribelle’s identity. I promise. Besides, Bobby Lee also said Earl Lee was murdered a few years later. So even if he’s the culprit, it’s too late to charge him.”

“Thank you,” the sheriff said. “Unless you have anything else, I need to get back to my paperwork.”

“Oh, just a couple more things. Do you want me to call Maribelle’s family and notify them? Or do you want to do the notification?”

“It’s fine if you call them, Angie. You’ve had all the contact with them so far,” Mike said. “And I expect they’ll want to give the body a proper burial. You can tell them that we can release the body and the effects—the ring and the remains of her dress and shoes are all there is—anytime they want to arrange. I’ll call the state medical examiner’s office and have them returned here for disposition.”

“That’s fine. I’ll call the family tonight or tomorrow. Just one more thing,” Angie leaned forward, an eager expression on her face. “What are the investigations into the McGills you’re working on? Does it have anything to do with the animal rescue scam at the assisted living facility?”

“Out! I’m busy, and I can’t talk about an active case.” Sheriff Johnson stood up abruptly, went to the door, and held it open. “We’re done here.”

Angie chuckled. “Well, if you don’t want people to know about an active case, you probably shouldn’t tell Maude Strother about it. Or involve her. She told Ed she’s been deputized as an undercover operative at the Morning Sun, and J.P. McGill’s her prime suspect.”

Sheriff Mike groaned again and motioned Angie toward the door. “Do not report this in your newspaper, or I’ll charge you with interfering in a criminal investigation. And the McGills will probably sue you for libel.”

Angie punched him lightly on the shoulder as she left his office, laughing. Agnes handed her an envelope marked “Forensic Examination Report” when Angie reached the reception area, then pulled out more pictures of her new grandchild. Angie gushed over them for a minute before heading over to the courthouse for the medical board meeting.

###

The dogs were barking and scrabbling at the door to get out when Angie arrived home. She unlocked the door and stood to one side to avoid being knocked over as they dashed outside. After turning off the alarm system, she dropped her purse on the floor by the closet, took off her coat, and went into the kitchen to fill the dogs’ food and water bowls, which were completely empty. “Sorry, guys,” she said as Bernie and Wrigley dashed back inside. “I didn’t mean to be this late.”

Dinner with George had been fun. He was relaxed, amusing, and had traveled widely. His stories of a trip to Uzbekistan that he’d made with a World Bank team and being assigned to assist the Croatian government during the period when stray bombs were still falling on Zagreb were fascinating. When Angie had asked him how he had ended up in Gillette, he laughed and told her it was a sad story and he didn’t want to depress her. By the end of the evening, Angie was feeling guilty for enjoying his company so much and hesitantly reminded him, “I’m in-between right now, George. And I don’t want to mislead you. I’m not ready to . . . well . . . get involved in a new relationship.”

George had lightly touched her hand. “Don’t worry about it, okay? I understand. We can just be friends who enjoy each other’s company. No pressure, no expectations.” On the way home, Angie’s thoughts were still jumbled. She had enjoyed the evening with George far more than she’d anticipated—he was about as different from Nick as possible. Nick was strong and quiet and superbly confident, while George was a natural raconteur—amusing and charming, but with an underlying sadness that occasionally filtered through his façade. She did want to see George again. Just friends. George and I can be friends. And if Nick and I . . . somehow, some way . . . figure things out, it’ll be okay.

After the dogs had finished eating and had another run outside, Angie locked up the cabin and turned on the television. Late news, politics, war, explosion on a ship. She clicked it off and picked up her phone. There was a message waiting from Nick. “Sorry I missed you. Hope you were out doing something fun. Give me a call when you get a chance.” A wave of sadness swept over Angie. I do miss him, she thought. Angie went to bed and dreamed of Nick and George, together as friends.

###

The Marietta Times

Nov. 3, 2020

Ask AK, Matt and the Grumpy Old Man

Dear AK, Matt and Grumpy: I sent my DNA sample to one of those companies that send you results showing where your ancestors came from. The results were interesting, but that’s not why I’m writing you. The company also matches your DNA to the DNA of other people in their sample who are related to you, on an ongoing basis. They send you a list of those people, who you can contact if you’re interested in genealogy. The company lets you contact them through their website, which allows you to remain anonymous if you want that. So I wasn’t interested in checking out any of my third or fourth cousins and didn’t. A couple weeks ago, the company sent me an updated list of relatives. One of the relatives was indicated as a half-sibling. Now that threw me! I’m an only child. I messaged the half-sibling to find out more. She got back to me right away. Turns out she was adopted, and she’s trying to locate her birth family. Well, as we

corresponded, we figured out that it was most likely that my father was her father too. The worst of it is — she’s two years younger than me. Which means he cheated on my mother, right?

Now she’s begging me to talk to my father, because she wants to connect with him and me.

I’d like to meet her, I guess. But what about my mother? It would really hurt her to find out my father cheated on her. And, honestly, I don’t look forward to talking to my father about this. What do you all think? —On a Precipice and Leaning

AK: This is a tough one, On a Precipice. I’d be as stuck as you are, I think. My suggestion is that you talk to your father and see if he’s open to connecting with your half-sister. He might not even know that he fathered another child. Or, he might have known and never gave it a thought after she was adopted. If he does want to meet her, it’ll be up to him to confess to your mother. If he doesn’t, you should put this out of your mind. It’s not really your decision to make.

Matt: I’m really sympathetic to your half-sister’s situation. One of my best friends was adopted as an infant. When he was in college, he decided to try to find his birth parents. The adoption agency wouldn’t give him any information, as the birth mother insisted it be a closed adoption. He’s a computer nerd, though, and tracked down clues to discover his birth mother’s name. She lived in the next state and was married with two children. Once he located her, he mailed a private and confidential letter to her but never got an answer. In frustration, he drove all night to arrive at her house one morning. When she answered the door, he said, “I’m your son.” She slammed the door in his face and yelled that she’d call the police if he didn’t go away. (I should mention that my friend is black. His mother is white. Which probably made it worse for him.) It took him a year of therapy to recover and regain his prior sense of self. So, I’m sympathetic. However, I agree with AK — this is your father’s problem and responsibility. If he chooses not to accept that responsibility, you need to let it go.

GOM: So your father cheated on your mother. He’s not unique. About one in five men cheat on their wives. But being stupid enough to do it in a way that results in a child? Now that’s downright irresponsible. I don’t have much hope that someone this irresponsible will be open to meeting with your half-sister. But I could be surprised. So talk to him and let him decide. Assuming he doesn’t want to have anything to do with your half-sister, you can decide yourself whether you want to meet her and get to know her. There’s no one saying you can’t have a relationship with her, even if she’s not going to be an official part of your family. As to whether to tell your mother about what you’ve discovered, I’d say don’t. She may already know her husband cheats (most women do), but it would hurt and embarrass her to know that you know.

____________________________________________________________

AK and Matt are an aunt-and-nephew team who are experts at solving all sorts of problems. The Grumpy Old Man is a Grumpy Old Man with strong views on nearly everything. Send your questions to them at The Marietta Times, and they’ll do their best to provide you with answers, which may (or may not) be helpful. Please note: We accept no liability if you act on any of our advice and it turns out badly.

CHAPTER 29

Bobby Lee McGill’s car skidded to a stop outside the ranch house. He stumbled getting out of the Mercedes and grabbed the door to keep from falling. “Lucas! Lucas!” He hobbled up to the front door and threw it open. “Lucas! Lucas!”

Alvin silently appeared in the foyer. “Mr. Lucas is up at the barn, sir. Can I help you with something?” His voice was whispery, and Bobby Lee glared at him.

“Speak up, will you? I can’t understand when you talk like that.” Alvin repeated his words. “Yes, you can help! Go get Lucas and tell him we need to talk.” Bobby Lee turned to go down the hall. “I’ll be in the library. Hurry up and get him.” The old man leaned on his cane and began limping down the hallway. Alvin nodded then went out the door.

Ten minutes later Lucas entered the library and regarded his uncle. “What’s so important that you’re back here today? I thought we’d agreed you’d go back to the Morning Sun and stop getting J.P. all worked up?” Lucas took off the battered hat he was wearing and tossed it on the side table before dropping into the chair opposite Bobby Lee.

Bobby Lee’s face was red, and it was clear he was agitated. He gripped his cane, white-knuckled, and blurted out, “You need to close down operations in the computer center. Today. I have it on good authority—and, no, I’m not going to tell you who—that the sheriff is suspicious that our family has something to do with the animal shelter scam.”

“Why would he think that?” Lucas sat back in his chair, one eyebrow lifted and a small smile on his face. “I figured you and J.P. were responsible for that. That police chief that came up here told me what had happened and that J.P. appeared to be the source of the problem at the assisted living facility. But that’s his and your problem, not mine. He could examine our records, and he wouldn’t find any links to your idiotic scheme.” Lucas leaned forward and looked at Bobby Lee. “Unless there’s something else that I don’t know about?”

Bobby Lee shrank back in his chair. “Well, he might find something. J.P. told me he had a deal with one of your customer service people to change the electronic request for funds.” He cast a wary look at Lucas. “And I think he has at least one other scam going with that person.”

“God damn it, old man! What exactly have you two numbskulls done?” Lucas erupted from his chair and loomed over Bobby Lee. “Where’s J.P.? I need to know exactly who and when this all happened. And how much money is involved!”

“I told J.P. to get out of town. He’s on his way to Vegas right now with that girl he’s been romancing at the assisted living.” Bobby Lee’s voice quavered. “I figured better he not be around. And I don’t know who he was working with. He never told me.” His face brightened as he added, “I do know that we took over $100,000 before the banks shut it down, though. J.P. gave the computer person $10,000 and me $20,000. The rest is in his pocket.”

Lucas sat down again, rubbing his forehead. “Stupid, stupid, stupid! I should have you locked up in a nursing home and take away that Mercedes you’re so proud of. Do you know what you’ve done? Put a five million dollar a year legitimate business at risk. For what? A penny-ante scam?” He jumped back up. “It’s infuriating how you and J.P. revel in our family’s outlaw past! You stay here and don’t move. I’ll deal with you when I get back.” Lucas grabbed his hat, slammed it on his head, and strode out of the room. 

CHAPTER 30

Christine Kepler, administrator of the Morning Sun Assisted Living Home, was behind the reception desk, studying papers that were spread out in front of her when Maude rapped sharply on the counter. Christine jerked at the noise, and several of the sheets of paper fluttered to the floor.

“You startled me, Maude. You’re up early. Do you need something?”

Maude was dressed all in black with a black knit cap over her head. She looked around the reception area before answering. “Nope, don’t need any help.” She leaned over to pick up the sheets of paper. She looked through them and handed them back to Christine. “Inventory, huh? I used to do inventory for the ranch. Looks like that Jeannie girl double-counted some exercise equipment. We sure don’t have two rowing machines in the fitness center. Where is she, anyway?”

Chris stared at Maude, then came around the counter and snatched the papers in Maude’s hands. “Those are confidential!” Placing the sheets back on the counter, she added, “About Jeannie, your guess is as good as mine. She didn’t show up today, and she left all the inventory in a mess. Orders and receipts that need to be matched for inventory are scattered all over her desk. The CPA is coming this afternoon, and I need to be able to document everything for her.”

“Ha! Good luck with that!” Maude rolled closer to the reception counter and motioned for Chris to lean over. “The sheriff has me on undercover duty. I’m supposed to be watching for that J.P. McGill when he comes here to visit Jeannie. They’re sweet on each other, you know. And the sheriff thinks J.P. might be the one who stole my money.” Maude looked around the lobby. “But don’t tell anyone, okay? It’s a secret.”

Chris smiled. “Are you sure the sheriff asked you to do this? Maybe he just was saying you should let him know if you saw anything you were concerned about.”

Maude drew herself up as tall as she could in the wheelchair. “I’m not addle-pated yet, missy. I know what he said, and it was ‘undercover’ and ‘watch for J.P.’ Ask Jim if you don’t believe me!” She wheeled herself over to the seating area and parked herself facing the front door.

Chris watched Maude for a few minutes, uncertain what to make of her statements. After a bit, Chris said, “Maude, I’ll tell you what. Do you have your cellphone with you? I’ll be here at the reception desk for the next hour, at least. If J.P. comes in, I’ll text you and you can come back. Otherwise, you’ll miss your chair yoga class.”

“Would you?” Maude wheeled up to the reception desk. “I do hate to miss the yoga class. It’s so funny to watch the old ladies trying to keep from falling off their chairs. Promise you’ll text me if he comes in? Or if Jeannie comes back?”

“I promise. Now go. Have fun, and don’t give any of the ladies a push off their chairs.” Christine waited until Maude was out of sight before dialing the sheriff’s office. She asked to speak to Sheriff Johnson.

“Good morning, Christine,” Sheriff Johnson answered, his voice cheery. “What can I do for you today?”

“Did you ask Maude Strother to go undercover at Morning Sun? To watch J.P. McGill and our receptionist, Jeannie?”

Sheriff Mike groaned. “I knew it wasn’t a good idea, but I figured it was better than not knowing what she and Jim were up to over there. I didn’t want a repeat of last week’s fiasco. What’s she done now?”

“Just parked herself in the lobby and sat there. She told me, confidentially, of course, that she was undercover at your request. But I have a feeling I’m not the only one she’s told. And she said Jim Harrington knows about it too.”

“Yeah, I told him the same thing I told Maude. Just keep an eye out and let me know if J.P. shows up or if they see anything they think is concerning.” He sighed then added, “I’ll come over later today and talk to both of them. Tell them they’re relieved of duty, or something like that.”

“Thanks, Sheriff. There’s something else I need to talk to you about. Our receptionist didn’t show up to work today, and she left a bunch of papers lying on her desk. I’ve been going through them, and I think I’ve spotted some financial discrepancies. After you talk to Maude and Jim, would you come by my office? I’ll explain more then.”

“Sure. I hope it’s not anything serious.”

“It might be. I don’t know for sure yet, but I’ll keep looking. See you when you get here.” Christine hung up and gathered up the papers on the desk. She made a quick phone call to ask one of the aides to come and replace her at the reception desk, then headed to her office.

###

It was late afternoon when Sheriff Johnson parked in front of the Morning Sun building. Inside, he asked the receptionist to be directed to Maude Strother’s apartment.

“She’s at bingo right now, sir,” the young blond CNA told him after checking the schedule on her computer. “Do you want to wait? Or is it urgent?”

Sheriff Johnson shook his head. “I need to see Christine Kepler too. Is she available?”

The receptionist dialed a number and looked at Johnson. “Who should I say is here to see Ms. Kepler?” She relayed the information over the phone and nodded at the response. “She says you can go straight to her office, sir. Down the left hallway.”

Johnson thanked her and headed to the hallway. The administrative office door was closed, but he rapped and went in. Christine was sitting at her desk, papers scattered across the top. Another woman, middle-aged with gray-streaked blond hair piled in a loose knot on top of her head, sat across the desk. She was peering at an account book, a frown on her face.

“Mike, glad you made it. I take it you’re here to talk to Maude and Jim?” Christine motioned to the woman sitting beside her. “Barb Wilson, this is Sheriff Mike Johnson. Sheriff Johnson, Barb.” She waved Johnson to a chair. “Barb is the Morning Sun accountant. I’ve been going over our financial reports with her, but we’re ready to wrap up here.”

The accountant gathered her things and headed out, and Christine turned to the sheriff. “Those two are still lurking in the lobby, Sheriff,” she said. “People are starting to notice and wonder what’s going on. I don’t envy you having to rein in Maude. Jim’s a nice guy, but Maude’s another story.”

The sheriff grimaced. “Yep, it’ll be a tense meeting, but I’ll call them off. Have you seen J.P. around since the ruckus caused by Maude and Jim?”

“Not a sighting. And Jeannie—the receptionist—didn’t come in today. I’m thinking I may have to let her go. Her work includes the inventory and handling purchase orders, and, from what Barb just told me, those records aren’t in good shape.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Johnson said. He stood up. “Now, I need to go find Maude and fire her from her undercover job.” He chuckled. “You’ll probably hear some yelling and screaming from her.”

###

Jim tapped on Maude’s apartment door after lights out in the Morning Sun. He’d meant to talk to her at dinner, but she’d chosen to have dinner in her room and hadn’t joined the scheduled songfest in the library. When she didn’t answer his knock, Jim tapped louder. He heard movement inside. “Maude, it’s me. Jim. Open the door.”

He heard wheels moving over the wood floor, and the door opened a crack. Jim saw one eye peering up at him through the inch-wide opening. “Come on, Maude. We need to talk. You can’t hide in here forever.”

Maude opened the door wide and wheeled back into her room. No lights were on, and Jim could see only her shadow against the dim light coming in through the window. He closed the door and settled into a chair. “You’re upset,” Jim said, his voice soft.

“Of course I’m upset,” Maude answered. “The sheriff made it clear that I’m a foolish old woman who talks too much.” She gulped. “And I guess that’s what I am. It didn’t occur to me that telling people I was undercover meant that it could blow his investigation. This was just the most exciting thing I’ve been involved in . . . like, ever. And I couldn’t help bragging to a few people.”

Jim saw her eyes glisten in the dark. “Yeah, he reamed me out good too. Said he trusted me to be sure you understood what the situation is. And he’s right. I should have talked you through what he’s trying to do and why we needed to keep it quiet. Hell, I was a sheriff for near forty years. I should have realized you needed more information.” He shrugged. “I guess, like you, I was excited to be back on a case.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Maude wheeled over to Jim. “Did we blow his case? I hope not. What do you think?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Jim said. “Mike said they can’t find J.P. And, I don’t know if you noticed, but Jeannie didn’t come in today. It’s possible they got word from someone that the police were looking at J.P. Or they heard about our staking out Olaf’s room last weekend and decided to get out of town for a while.”

“The sheriff told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was off the case. And he ordered me not to talk to anyone about it,” Maude said, her voice sad. “And he said it out loud, in the hall as he was leaving. So now everyone here is going to know I messed up, aren’t they?”

Jim patted her knee. “Maybe that’s not a bad thing. It means no one will be thinking we’re still doing our own investigation.” He looked around the room and spotted a bottle and two glasses on the music console. “Is that Wyoming Whiskey? How about a drink, and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking. Is it okay if I turn on the lights now?” Maude nodded.

Jim got up and flipped on the overhead light switch. He saw Maude rub her eyes in the bright light and dab her tearstained face with a blue bandana. After pouring two fingers of whiskey in each glass, Jim carried the drinks back and sat down again.

“Now, here’s my plan. We can still be useful to the sheriff without telling him what we’re doing. I have the surveillance equipment with two cameras. I’ll wait till everything’s quiet tonight and hide one of the cameras to show the front door and the other near the back door. We’ll maintain surveillance, and, if we see J.P. or Jeannie, we can call 9-1-1 and notify the sheriff before they get away again.”

“Do you think they’ll come back here?” Maude face was doubtful. “Why would they?”

“Bobby Lee is here. J.P.’s his favorite grandson. I bet Bobby Lee knows exactly what’s going on and even where J.P. is.” Jim looked thoughtful. “Bobby Lee likes you too. Maybe you can chat with him when you get a chance. Ask him whether that good-looking grandson of his is coming back.” Jim leaned toward Maude. “Just casual conversation, right? Not like you’re interrogating him. Flirt with him a little. Talk about a lot of other things first and work it into the conversation.”

Maude grinned and took a sip of her whiskey. “I’m a good actress. Played Juliet in my high school drama. ‘Oh, Bobby Lee, oh, Bobby Lee. Wherefore art thy grandson?’ Bobby Lee and I have talked a few times about how pot is good for our old aches and pains. I can ask him if maybe J.P. might know someone who’d sell it to us.” Her eyes sparkled. “Actually not a bad idea, generally. This place would be a lot more fun with a bunch of potheads around.”

Jim choked on the whiskey he’d just swallowed, then guffawed. “You’re a hoot, Maude. And, yes, something like that might get Bobby Lee talking.” He regarded her seriously. “But, really, don’t buy any pot. It’s still illegal in Wyoming, and I’d have to turn you in.”

Maude laughed and wheeled closer to Jim. “I know you wouldn’t. Okay, let’s lay out the surveillance schedule.”

CHAPTER 31

“I’m going next door to get a sandwich,” Sam said, sticking her head in Angie’s office door. “You want anything?”

Angie looked up, her face pale. “No, not for me.”

“Are you okay? You didn’t even want coffee this morning.” Sam stepped into the office, concern on her face.

“Just some little stomach bug,” Angie said. “Hit me first thing this morning. I took some Maalox, and I’m better now. But I don’t want to risk stirring it up again. Fortunately, I don’t have any meetings planned for today.”

“I’ve heard there’s some kind of stomach flu going around.” Sam went to her desk and picked up her purse. “I’ll be back in a half hour. Ed should be coming in after lunch. He had a meeting with the mayor scheduled for eleven.”

Angie turned back to her computer and began working on the story about the new human remains found up in the Bear Lodge Mountains. She wanted to convey to readers that it was possible the bones were those of the young man who disappeared at the same time as Maribelle—Jack Ferguson, the oldest son of the family Maribelle was staying with. However, she added, the only way to determine that conclusively was with a DNA match with a relative. The story continued with the fact that due to the age of the crime, Sheriff Johnson hadn’t committed to opening a formal investigation, despite the coroner’s conclusion of probable homicide. Angie hinted that identifying the body might lead to a decision on the part of law enforcement to further pursue the case, particularly if it was proven to be Jack Ferguson. She ended by asking anyone with information about the whereabouts of the descendants of the Ferguson family to contact the newspaper.

A light knock on Angie’s office door interrupted her as she finished editing the story. The door opened to reveal a young woman in her mid-twenties with bright red hair and freckles. Behind her was a little girl, about 5 years old, with red pigtails and her thumb in her mouth. She wore a Little Mermaid T-shirt with scaly leggings.

Angie smiled at the little girl. “Hi, there. Does that thumb taste good? Mine always did.” The child ducked behind her mother and peeked at Angie.

“Sorry, she’s a bit shy,” the woman said. She stepped into Angie’s office. “I’m Izzy Spencer Havens, and this is my daughter, Betsy.” At Angie’s look of confusion, Izzy went on, “I’m Maribelle Spencer’s great-niece. I’m the one who wrote to you.”

“Oh,” Angie said, standing. “Please sit down. I’m so happy to meet you. Sheriff Johnson told me you were planning to come and pick up Maribelle’s remains. I didn’t know it was today.”

“The nice sheriff said he could pack all the . . . remains in a box. The family didn’t want to spend the money to have the funeral home send someone to do it, so I volunteered.” She sat down, picked up her daughter, and settled the child on her lap. “Made the trip into a little vacation for Betsy and me. We stopped at the statue of the Jolly Green Giant and took a run down to Custer State Park to see the buffalo and the begging donkeys. It was too cold to get out of the car, but fun. I need to get back to Minnesota by tomorrow night, so I’ll be leaving as soon as I pick up Maribelle’s remains. But I just couldn’t leave without coming by to thank you for all you’ve done. My great-grandmother is so pleased to finally have her sister found and back home. We’ll have a small graveside service next Saturday, and Maribelle will be buried in the graveyard on the family farm.”

“I’m glad I could help,” Angie said. “Would you be willing to send me a picture from the funeral? Maybe with your great-grandmother in it? I’ll write a final story about Maribelle going home.”

“Of course. I’ll be happy to. Great-granny told me she wishes she knew who killed Maribelle. I don’t suppose there’s much hope of ever finding out.”

Angie shook her head. “Probably not. And whoever did it has almost certainly passed on, too, by now. But you can talk to Sheriff Johnson about that. You know they’ve found another body, near where Maribelle was found. It’s possible it’s the Ferguson son who disappeared at the same time. Maribelle mentioned him in her diary, if you remember.”

“I know,” Izzy said. “People thought maybe they’d run off together. But if it is his body . . . well, that suggests something else, doesn’t it? Maybe a jealous suitor that Maribelle rejected? Her diary mentioned a man who was hanging around the school all the time. She said he made her very uncomfortable.”

“It does sound that way to me too,” Angie said, nodding. “Why don’t you talk to Sheriff Johnson about how important it is to your family to know more about what happened? Maybe he’ll at least keep the case open and follow up any new leads. I’m going to have a story in this week’s paper about finding the other remains and the possibility that it might be the Ferguson boy. The wrap-up asks anyone with information about the Ferguson family to contact the paper. That might produce leads that would allow us to identify the body.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely talk to the sheriff about that,” Izzy said. “And if there’s anything I can do to help, all you have to do is call.” She glanced at the clock on Angie’s filing cabinet. “We have to get going. Sheriff Johnson said he’d be in the office at one o’clock.” She placed her daughter on the floor and stood up. “Thank you, again. Can I get a subscription to your paper? I want to read the story you’ll be writing about the funeral and any new developments that happen.”

Angie walked Izzy and Betsy to the front office. “I’ll put you on the online subscription list, no charge. Have a safe trip back, and please let me know where to send flowers.” She opened the front door before hugging Izzy. Betsy was, again, hiding behind her mother, so Angie leaned down and whispered goodbye to her. She watched as they got into their white Chevy Equinox and pulled onto Main Street.

Sam returned a few minutes later, bearing coffee and a chai tea from next door. She handed the tea to Angie as Angie told her about the visit from the Spencer relatives. “That was nice,” Sam said, “her making the trip up here to meet you.” She smiled at Angie. “Sometimes I think you get a little carried away with trying to fix the world, but in this case you really did a good thing. The great-grandmother knows what happened to her sister and can get closure, finally.”

Angie nodded. “It does feel good to have helped them. Though I wish we knew who killed Maribelle and why. I guess we never will.”

###

“Angie Kramer, have I mentioned what a pain in the butt you are?”

Angie had been about out the door at the end of the work day when her phone rang. She held the cellphone away from her ear at Sheriff Johnson’s strident voice.

“Why, whatever do you mean, sir?” Angie said, in a Southern drawl. “I’d never do nothin’ to distress you.” She giggled at the strangled sound coming from the phone. “Did Izzy and Betsy come see you?” Angie asked in her normal tone of voice.

“They did,” Sheriff Johnson said. “And Izzy gave me an earful about how important it is that we continue to investigate what happened to her great-grandmother’s sister. She even insisted on showing me a picture of the great-grandmother—the woman’s 102 years old and looks like she’s feisty. Izzy said her great-grandma told her that she’d come out here herself and give me what for if I don’t identify the male remains and find out if they’re connected to her sister’s disappearance.”

“Really? She didn’t tell me great-grandma was threatening you,” Angie said. “But she was very interested in whether the other remains were the missing Jack Ferguson.”

“And, Izzy said you were going to try to locate a relative of the Fergusons so we could do another DNA match to follow up.” The sheriff took a deep breath. “Is that true? I thought you agreed that you wouldn’t link the new remains to the Spencer case.”

“No, I didn’t say that. I said I wouldn’t assert the bones were Jack Ferguson’s. What I’ve written is just the facts. Maribelle was murdered. The son of her host family disappeared at the same time, and people speculated they’d run away together. Since Maribelle’s been found—and the remains of another person, a young male, have been found near her burial site—it might be worth investigating to see if it’s possible to identify the young male victim, who was also murdered. Just the facts, Sheriff. And I also ask anyone who knows where the Ferguson family relocated when they left the county to contact me. If someone does, I’ll notify you, of course. And follow up to see if we can find a relative who’s willing to donate a DNA sample.”

“Angie, I understand your interest in a good story. But we’re a small department with limited staff and funding. I can’t spare people to devote to a really cold case murder. If you do find a relative and want to pay for a DNA match yourself, I’ll be happy to know the results. But don’t expect any assistance.”

Silence on the other end of the call indicated Sheriff Johnson had hung up. Angie sat back in her chair and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Finally, she glanced at the clock. It was past six. Sam had left an hour earlier, and Ed hadn’t returned from his afternoon meeting. “Better get home and feed the dogs,” Angie said, standing up. “It’s their dinner time. And mine.”              

CHAPTER 32

February 25, 1924

Dear Diary,

I apologize for not writing in so long. But the winter has been hard. We’ve had so much snow that school has had to close three times. Two weeks ago, it snowed all day and night for three days. Mr. Ferguson and the boys tried to keep up with it. Going outside and shoveling a path from the house to the barn nearly every hour. By the time it finally stopped, the snow was up to the windows on the second story of the house! Little Billy tried to climb out the window of his bedroom on the second floor and nearly suffocated in the snow before we heard him yelling and were able to rescue him. He was sunk up to his nose and only had one hand clinging to the windowsill. Mrs. Ferguson wrapped him in blankets and put him in front of the fire to thaw out. His father threatened to “whup him within an inch of his life if he ever did such an idiotic thing again.” Billy is properly chastened!

It took until today for the roads to be cleared enough that it was possible for a sleigh to get between here and the school house. I was so happy to be back, even though it was bitter cold and took an hour for the fire to warm the building. Only five of my students made it to school today. The two Ferguson children, of course, Jeremiah Anson, and the two McGill students. We all wore our coats and mittens for the morning classes, so I couldn’t have them write on their slates. Lunch was very enjoyable. I had brought a pot of chicken and dumplings and heated it on the woodstove. Then I shared some of the chocolate my sister sent me, and we all played the message game where one person whispers in the ear of the next person, who then whispers it into the ear of the next, and so on. The final version of the message was so funny, I almost fell off my chair laughing. But, I’m a proper teacher and instead suppressed my amusement and gave the moral of the game to the children.

The only bad part of the day was the end. Earl Lee McGill showed up to collect his brother and sister. He arrived early and stood in the back of my classroom, staring at me with a strange smile on his face. Then came up to me and tried to put his arm around my waist. I shoved him back and told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was never to touch me. He stormed out of the school. On the way home, I told Jack what had happened. He was angry on my behalf and swore he’d be early from now on and defend me, if Earl Lee did anything in the future. Jack is so sweet. And good-looking, I must say.

I’ll stop now, as it’s late and I need to be up early for tomorrow school. But I promise to write more often.

Yours faithfully,

Maribelle Spencer

CHAPTER 33

Main Street was decorated with banners showing turkeys dressed in Pilgrim suits and hats—an overnight change from the ghosts and witches that had hung from the street lights before. Dried corn stalks surrounded the bases of the lamps, and the city museum featured a straw-stuffed scarecrow, dressed in flannel plaid shirt and bib overalls, with a half dozen crow silhouettes hanging over the front door.

The temperature had dropped to an unseasonable minus five degrees, and Angie pulled her wool scarf up around her nose. She turned into the walkway that led to the museum and pushed open the heavy door. A warm blanket of air blew down on her as she went in. It was dim inside the building and Angie blinked a couple times to let her eyes adjust then walked to the back of the museum. Buck French, the museum director, was sitting at his desk with a large map spread out in front of him. He looked up when Angie tapped on the open door.

“Angie Kramer! I’ve been following your stories in the paper about the murders back in the 1920s. Interesting, especially to an old historian like me. Are you here to follow up a lead?” He pointed at the map in front of him. “I was just plotting the major sites in your story. The Snow Prairie School, the Ferguson ranch, and the homes where the students lived. Can you show me where the bodies were found? Might be a clue, if there’s any kind of pattern!” He beamed up at Angie, his rimless glasses sliding to the end of his nose.

Angie stepped into his office and stood behind his desk to better see the map. “Maribelle’s remains were found about here,” she said, putting a finger on the spot. “And the other remains—we don’t know yet if those are related or not—were found about a half mile north and west of Maribelle’s.” She shifted her finger slightly.

Buck penciled in the two spots Angie had indicated. He rubbed his forehead as he stared at the map. “No clear pattern among the locations. Although the location of the bodies is less than a mile from the old logging road that was probably the most direct route between the school and the Ferguson ranch.” He looked up at Angie, who was studying the map. “You see something?”

Angie shook her head. “Not really. I guess I didn’t realize that the Ferguson ranch backed up to the McGill property. The McGill house and outbuildings are miles from the Fergusons.”

“Oh, yes,” Buck said. “The McGills started out with a big parcel of land and then just kept acquiring more as other homesteaders in the region sold out.” He shuffled through the papers on his desk. “Yep, I thought I remembered this. Old Hiram McGill, the original McGill settler in the county, took title to the Ferguson property in the late 1930s. I assume that’s around the time the Fergusons left the area. Or that the land came into foreclosure for tax liens.” Buck leaned back in his chair, peering up at Angie. “I saw in the paper you were asking if anyone knows where the Fergusons went when they left the area. Any luck?”

“Not yet,” Angie said. “It’s been two weeks since I ran the original story, and not one phone call or email from anyone who has information. That’s why I’m here. I need to go through the microfiche copies of the Times for the time after Maribelle disappeared up to 1940. I’ve already searched the Times’ archives for 1941 and later, since we have those on file at our office. Absolutely no reference to any Fergusons. I’m hoping there’ll be a story about their leaving, something that can point me to a geographic area. Ferguson’s such a common surname that it’ll be difficult to track down the right ones unless I have a starting point.”

Buck stood up. “Come on. I’ll help you. We got a grant recently and were able to buy a second microfiche reader. I’ll go through half the years, and you go through the other half.” He walked into the hall. “There’s nobody visiting today, anyway—it’s too cold and too close to Thanksgiving for out-of-town visitors.” He pulled his cellphone from his shirt pocket. “And the security system will buzz me if anyone comes in the door.”

Angie followed him down the stairs and into the dark basement with its overflowing files and stored furniture and displays. The room with the microfiche readers was dark. Buck flipped the light switch, and Angie sat down at the second machine and looked at Buck. “I’ll let you pull the reels, however many years you think we can get through today. Maribelle disappeared in 1924, and I went through all the Times editions through 1925 when I was here before. So we need to start with 1926.”

“1926 to 1940. Right. I’ll go pull those reels,” Buck said. He disappeared into the metal file shelving that extended into the back of the room and returned with seven reels. “You take 1926 to 1929, and I’ll start with 1930 to 1932.” He dropped three of the metal canisters next to Angie and sat down at the other reader. For the next forty-five minutes, the room was silent other than the click of the reader moving from one page to the next.

“Nothing here, Angie,” Buck said. “Nothing relevant, anyway. It’s a good thing the Times only publishes weekly, or we’d be at this for days.” He picked up the metal canisters and carried them back to the shelves, returning with eight more. “Here’s the next batch. 1933 to 1936 for you and ’37 through ’40 for me.”

Angie opened the 1933 canister and took out the reel. “Maribelle’s remains were found in 1935. I hope there’s at least a story about that to make this worthwhile.”

Buck glanced at her, his eyes sharp. “Don’t get discouraged yet. I have a feeling we’ll find something useful.” He slipped the first reel into the reader and began scanning each page. A half our later, Buck shouted, “Eureka! I found the item about Hiram McGill purchasing the lien on the Ferguson property.” He grinned at Angie. “I assume you want me to print it out.”

“Absolutely. What does it say?”

Buck clicked on the Print icon, then leaned forward and read the article out loud. “Hiram McGill purchased the lien on the property previously owned by George Ferguson at the tax sale held in Sundance on October 23, 1938, 556 acres of pasture land with a small stream, a built house and two outbuildings, for $670.” He shook his head. “That’s really all it says. But at least you know that the Fergusons must have abandoned the property at least three years earlier.”

“I’m up to the end of 1934,” Angie said. “If there’s anything about the Fergusons, it must be in 1935. Unless you found some mention of them in your years?”

“Nope, not a word. Do you want me to continue on with 1939 and 1940?”

“Sure. We need to be thorough, though I doubt you’ll find anything.” Angie turned back to the reader and began scrolling through 1935. “I found it!” Angie looked over toward Buck. “July 2, 1935.” Buck jumped up from his reader and stood behind Angie as she read. “The Comings and Goings section on page five. ‘George Ferguson and family have left the county in search of greener pastures in Oregon. Mr. Ferguson said the drought over the last two years has made it impossible to ranch in northeast Wyoming. The family packed up all their belongings and sold their remaining livestock, except for the two fine Belgian horses that were the envy of Mr. Ferguson’s neighbors. We wish them well in their new endeavors.’”

“Minimally helpful,” Buck said. “Oregon’s a large state, and Ferguson’s a common name. But at least you know what direction to look.”

Angie grimaced. “I guess. I was hoping for more details. But this means they might show up in the 1940 Census. Kassie, my friend who runs the coffee shop, told me the detailed 1940 Census files are the last year available so far. She can search for George Ferguson living in a household with children named Billy and Annie. I don’t know Mrs. Ferguson’s given name. But there couldn’t be many George, Billy, and Annie Fergusons living in one household, right?”

Buck chuckled. “You might be surprised, but you’re probably correct. Shall we continue through the remaining years of the paper? Just in case there’s any other mention of the Fergusons or of their missing son.”

Angie agreed. She printed out the page with the reference to the Fergusons’ departure, then began flipping pages again, through the remainder of 1935 and 1936. Forty-five minutes later, Angie was finished. She sat back, stretched, and rubbed her eyes. Buck finished reviewing through 1940 five minutes later. He turned off the microfiche readers and returned the canisters to the storage area.

“It’s strange, don’t you think,” Angie said, as they headed back upstairs. “There wasn’t any mention of the bones found in 1935. Wouldn’t you think that would be something the newspaper would report on?”

“Not necessarily. They probably thought the remains were much older, likely a member of one of the Native American tribes in the area in the late 1800s or before,” Buck said. “Back then there was still a lot of people with animosity toward the Indians. I could tell you a couple fairly gruesome stories about clashes between the early settlers and the natives—no love lost on either side. So if the sheriff at that time thought they were the bones of an Indian, he wouldn’t have considered it worth making a fuss over.”

Angie reflected on that. “I suppose you’re right, but I hate to think people were so callous only a hundred years ago that they’d just stick the remains in a sack and put them in a safe with no further efforts to find out what happened. Thanks for helping me, Buck,” Angie said. “It would have taken much longer if I was by myself. And it’s nice to have someone to share the discoveries with.”

“Hey, you notice we weren’t interrupted by any visitors. It’s not busy this time of year. I have a couple projects I’m working on—documenting all the train and stagecoach lines passing near or through Marietta as far back as I can, for one—but I enjoyed having a small project to do. Especially since you found what you needed. Come back again anytime.” Buck helped Angie with her coat and wrapped her scarf snugly around her neck. “Watch out for ice patches when you leave. I throw out salt on the sidewalk, but it’s still slick in places.”

###

Sam was putting on her coat, ready to close up for the day, when Angie arrived at the Times office. She handed Angie a small stack of pink slips. “Phone’s been ringing a lot today. Mayor Dylan is upset about the story Ed wrote about the city council meeting last week, but he’s probably gone for the day. Sheriff Johnson left a message asking you to call him. Nick called and left a message on your voicemail. George from the fathers’ group called and asked you to call him. And our accountant is pressing to meet with you and Ed as soon as possible. I’m meeting Tom over in Spearfish for dinner and a cowboy poetry reading at the Heritage Museum, so I have to get going.” Sam opened the front door, waved, and ducked out.

Angie knelt down and gave each of her dogs, who had emerged from their usual sleeping spots in her office, a head rub and a Milk-Bone. “I guess you want to go for a walk, right?” Bernie and Wrigley wagged their tails, enthusiastic at the word “walk.” “Okay, go get your leashes.” The dogs dashed into the back office and returned with leashes in their mouths. Angie snapped the leashes onto their collars and led them outside. Sleet was coming down, the hard pellets stinging Angie’s face. “We’ll take the truck to the dog park, okay?” She opened the passenger door and waited while the dogs jumped in.

The dog park was empty of dogs and people. Angie sat on a bench after letting the dogs off to run. Within minutes, she was coated in fine sleet, and her bottom and back were numb with cold. After another five minutes, she whistled for Bernie and Wrigley to come. They were covered with snow, having wrestled and rolled in it. Angie sighed. “Too cold, guys. Let’s go home.”

###

Later that evening, Angie had settled down to watch an episode of Deadwood on Amazon Prime. She fell asleep halfway through the show, but the ringing of her cellphone yanked her abruptly from a vivid dream of an airplane crashing into thick jungle foliage.

“Hello?” Angie’s voice was groggy.

“It’s Nick, Angie. Did I wake you?”

Angie shook her head sharply and sat up on the sofa. “No, of course not.” She quickly checked her phone for the time. “It’s only nine-thirty. How are you?”

“Everything’s fine here. I just got home from the restaurant. My mom stayed to close up. Did you get my earlier message?”

“I did. I was going to call you, just not till later.” Angie was wide awake now. “What’s been happening? We haven’t talked for a week, at least.”

“I know. Business at the restaurant has been crazy. Two of the cooks quit, and I had to sub for one of them for a few days until I hired new people.” Nick chuckled. “Best thing that could have happened, though. The new head cook is practically five-star. He’s added new menu items, including Thai-Greek fusion selections. The eggplant-feta pad Thai is amazing, and the second night we had it on the menu, a food critic from the Chicago Tribune was here undercover. He gave it such a strong positive that we’ve been packed every night this week.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m glad it’s going so well,” Angie said. She hesitated, then asked, “What does that mean for you? You said a couple weeks ago that you were looking for a manager who you could turn things over to. Any progress on that?”

“Not yet. I’m not sure what’s going to happen, to be honest. My brother-in-law is saying we should consider opening a second restaurant in the suburbs, maybe Evanston or Highland Park. I’m not sure about that. It would be a major investment, and my father was always opposed to expanding.” Nick drew in a deep breath. “Angie, I’m not going to be able to come back to Wyoming, as things are. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

Angie’s eyes filled. “I thought that was where you were going, Nick,” she said, her voice thick.

“I love you, you know,” Nick said. “I want to marry you. I know you’re uncertain, but I can’t imagine life without you.” There was silence on the other end of the phone. “Angie, please. Think about it. You could come back to Chicago. There are newspapers here or other jobs that you would enjoy. Nonprofits supporting causes you care about that you could help. Ed could find someone to replace you, maybe even Sam. And, you could continue with the advice column. Market it to papers here and eventually go national.” His voice trailed off.

Angie, huddled in the sofa, ran her hand over Bernie’s fur. “I don’t know, Nick,” she finally whispered. “Give me a few days. Okay?’

“You can have all the time you need,” Nick said. “I just want you to know that I love you. And I want us to be together always. Just, please, think about it. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you decide.”

Angie’s phone beeped. Another call was coming in. Of course it was George Potts. “Nick, I’ll think about it. I promise. I’m getting another call I need to take. I’ll call you in a few days.” She hung up without waiting for Nick to reply. She stared at her still-beeping phone, then punched Decline. Bernie and Wrigley climbed on the sofa, sensing her distress. Wrigley licked the salty tears on her face, and Bernie rested his head in her lap until she fell asleep.

CHAPTER 34

Ed frowned when Angie walked into the Times office the next morning. “You’re late, and you look like shit,” he said. “Barb’s been here since nine, which is when we were scheduled to meet with her.”

“I’m sorry,” Angie said, in a weak voice. “I had a bad night, and one of the dogs threw up this morning. I had to clean it up, and that made my wonky stomach rebel too.” Ed followed her into her office where Barb Wilson, the paper’s accountant, was waiting. She smiled when Angie walked in and pushed her reading glasses up to rest on her hairline.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Barb. Unforeseeable circumstances,” Angie said. “How are you? And Josie?” Barb was foster mother to a little girl Angie had met a few months ago.

“Oh, we’re both fine. Josie’s getting all A’s in fourth grade and has made two ‘best friends.’ Quite a change since I first took her in.” Barb pulled a file folder from the briefcase resting at her feet. “And I kept busy while I was waiting. Finished reviewing your most recent monthly financial reports and compared them with a year ago, as Ed asked.”

“Well, good,” Angie said. She sat down at her desk and leaned forward. “Ed, this is your meeting. Let’s get started.” Angie hiccupped loudly. She covered her mouth, then hiccupped again. “I’m going to get a drink of water. Be right back.” Angie opened the back door of her office and went in the small bathroom. She hiccupped again and pulled a paper cup from the dispenser on the wall. Three refills later, the hiccups finally stopped. Angie glanced at herself in the mirror. I do look like shit, she thought, peering closer. Her hair hung lankly around her face, the white streak barely visible, and she had dark circles under her eyes. She fluffed her hair with her fingers and splashed cold water on her face. I’ll go home early and sleep about ten hours tonight, she vowed.

Ed and Barb were studying a sheet of paper when Angie returned and sat back down. Ed was frowning as he ran one finger down the page. “So we’ve lost revenue since last year this time?”

“You have. At the same time, your salary and printing costs have gone up. You’re now running a net monthly deficit of about $2,200. That’s over the past five months,” Barb said. She looked up at Angie. “This is the monthly P&L report for this fiscal year, along with a comparison with the last twelve months.” She pointed at Angie’s desk. “Your copy is there.”

Angie bent to study the two sheets of paper Barb indicated. A year ago, the Times was making a healthy profit. Beginning in May, profits had begun to decline. They turned negative in June and had remained that way through October. “It looks like our advertising revenue has fallen off over the last six months,” Angie said. “We’ve added more subscribers, but subscription revenue has fallen too. I don’t understand that.”

“Since you added the online subscription option, it looks like a fair number of your subscribers have shifted to online only. You charge less for an online subscription,” Barb said. “And hard-copy subscribers get the online edition, too, at no extra cost. Some of those people may be sharing their online log-in with other people.”

Angie rubbed her forehead. “I thought offering an online version would attract more subscribers. It never occurred to me that some people would shift from hard copy to online.” She looked up. “Costs of paper have gone up too. A lot.”

“Due to the current administration’s trade wars,” Ed grumbled. “Tariffs on wood products, including paper.”

“Partly that,” Barb said. “Though there are some other factors. Still, your paper costs have risen almost fifteen percent over the past six months.”

Ed dropped the papers he was holding on Angie’s desk. “So, what do we need to do?”

“Increase advertising and classified revenues, re-structure the charges for online plus hard copy subscriptions, tighten up other costs. Salaries, supplies, and travel are the main components you can do something about and have the greatest impact.” Barb sat back. “There is one source of revenue you might consider reallocating to cover the deficit. The advice column syndication brings in over $2,500 a month. You divide it four ways, between the two of you, Matt, and the paper. You could increase the paper’s share to fifty percent. That would cover over half of the monthly deficit, if it doesn’t get worse.”

Ed scowled. “We could do that. But not till we cut some other things.” He pointed to the Travel Costs item on the spreadsheet. “Angie’s pursuing these mysteries is costing us a ton. Multiple trips to Cheyenne, Casper, and Denver are expensive. They make up nearly half of the last two months’ deficit. And we also footed the bill for the DNA testing and paid Kassie for the time she’s spent in online research.” He threw a hard stare at Angie. “I know it’s fun to be an investigative reporter, but that’s not the business we’re in. I want to take some time to look back over the past year’s spending and see whether the other ‘investigations’ you’ve been involved in have contributed to our problem.”

Angie shrank back in her chair, thinking I’m not up to this today. She pushed a straggling hair out of her eye. “All right. We do have a problem,” Angie said. “Thank you, Barb. Ed and I will review things and decide what to do. Maybe we can find a different paper supplier, for one thing. And come up with a plan to increase subscribers and advertising revenue. Let’s schedule another meeting in a few days.”

Barb looked from Ed to Angie. “I have one more unrelated thing to talk to Angie about, Ed. Do you mind if we do it now?”

Ed frowned and picked up the accounting packet. “Nope. I want to start going over the detailed monthly reports, anyway.” He stalked out of Angie’s office and slammed the door.

“What do you need to talk to me about?” Angie rubbed her forehead.

“This is completely off the record, right? I don’t want you to print or tell anyone about this until I decide what to do,” Barb said, her voice low. “But I really need a sounding board. Someone who’s an unbiased outside observer.”

Angie nodded agreement. “Of course, I’ll keep your confidence. What’s going on?”

“You know I do the books for the Morning Sun Assisted Living. I’ve been doing a deep dive because of some serious discrepancies. There’s a problem with inventory missing, medications tracking, and other items. When I met with the administrator over there, she told me she thought that her receptionist, who handles purchase orders and deliveries, may be responsible. The receptionist has disappeared, and that’s suspicious, I agree. But when I went back through the books, it looks to me that the problem started well over a year ago. And the receptionist has only worked there for four months.” Barb regarded Angie with worried eyes. “Christine said she’d report this to the police and tell them the receptionist was the probable culprit. So the police will be looking into it but only have whatever information she gave them. I’m not sure what to do.”

“I don’t know about accounting,” Angie said. “Is there a rule about CPAs having to maintain client confidentiality? Or do you have the right, or a responsibility, to report evidence of embezzlement?”

Barb sighed. “I do have a responsibility to report to the client what I suspect. That would be first reporting the findings to the administrator, Christine Kepler. But I’m not sure that she’s not the person behind the theft. And she’s the one claiming it must be the receptionist, which it can’t be since the problem started before she was hired.” She sighed again. “On the other hand, there could be some explanation other than Christine being the embezzler. Maybe there’s a problem with the data? Or there’s someone else cooking the books to cover up the missing medications and equipment? I don’t want to cast suspicion on Christine if she’s innocent.”

Angie thought for a minute, then said, “I think you need to continue to gather information, Barb. Dig deeper, try to determine exactly when the embezzlement started, re-do the inventory going back even further and match orders and purchases to the payments made. You really need to be sure before you make any accusations. A false accusation could destroy someone. But you do need to follow up and maybe think about presenting the evidence to Christine and the Morning Sun board of directors, together, once you’re more certain about what’s going on there.”

“You’re right. I know that’s what I should do, but I need Christine’s okay to continue digging.” She buried her head in her hands. “I hate this!”

“Definitely puts you in the middle,” Angie said, her voice sympathetic. “But you have to do what’s right. Hopefully, the problem is sloppy data and you can get it straightened out.”

Barb stood up. “I hope so too. Thanks for listening. You didn’t say anything I hadn’t already thought of, but it’s helpful to put it in words. I’ll let you know what I decide.” She gathered up her files. “And I hope you and Ed can come up with a workable plan to put the Times back in the black. I’m here to help if there’s anything you need from me.”              After Barb was out the door, Angie went into the front office where Ed was hunched over the keyboard of his computer. She put up both hands to indicate she was willing to surrender. “Ed, we can solve this. Every paper in the country is in the same position we are, competing with twenty-four-hour television and online coverage of the news. Look at the Rapid City Journal and the Casper Star-Tribune. Both have gone to five issues a week over the past few months. The first thing I’ll do is put Sam on checking for paper suppliers that might give us a better price. And, I agree, no more investigative expenses unless you approve them.”

The scowl on Ed’s face didn’t go away. “You give me a plan by Friday that doesn’t include cutting our syndication shares in half. In the meantime, I’ll give some thought to ways we might increase advertising and other revenues.” He leaned forward in his chair. “But I have to tell you, I’m unhappy with this. You’ve only been in charge for six months, and we’ve gone from a profitable paper to one that’s losing money. I understand that papers all over the country are in dire straits, but that’s not an excuse. If I have to take over again as editor and CEO, I will.”

Angie’s stomach roiled. She fought back tears and said, “I understand, Ed. And I’ll do everything I can to change the trajectory.”

Ed stood up abruptly and picked up his coat. “I’m going to lunch. Then I have a meeting with Sheriff Johnson. I won’t be back in the office till tomorrow.”

Angie heard the front door close behind him and succumbed to the tears she’d been holding back. After a few minutes of self-pity, she turned on her computer and began writing up the police reports.

###

“What can I get you, Angie?” Kassie said, carefully adjusting the turkey headband she was wearing along with orange leggings, a dark brown sweatshirt with a turkey dressed as a pilgrim embossed on it, and a string of pumpkin-flashing-lights around her neck.

Angie studied the menu. “Umm, how about a caprese sandwich on sourdough and a cup of chai tea?” She looked around the coffee shop. Mid-afternoon was slow, and only three tables were occupied. “If you’re not too busy, come and sit with me for a few minutes. I got some new information that might help us track down the Ferguson family.”

Kassie nodded and spread a mixture of mustard and mayonnaise on the sandwich she was making. She layered the bread with mozzarella cheese and thick slices of tomato, sprinkled a few drops of garlic olive oil and balsamic vinegar on the tomatoes, and assembled the sandwich. The chai tea took longer to make, and she served a new customer while the milk was steaming. After carrying the sandwich and tea over to the back table where Angie was seated, she sat down.

“I guess you’re feeling better today? The last couple days, you didn’t want anything but ginger ale for lunch.” Kassie unscrewed the bottle of water she had with her and took a drink.

“Oh, yeah. Stomach’s all better. Must have just had a little bug,” Angie said. “Today’s been enough to upset my stomach without a bug, though.” She went on to relate the meeting with Barb and Ed to Kassie. “So, I can’t spend any more money on consulting fees for you. At least not any of the paper’s money. I can pay you out of my own pocket, though. I spent yesterday afternoon over at the museum and found a brief story in 1935 that said the Fergusons had left for Oregon. You said the 1940 Census files were publically available now. How much time would it take for you to search the Oregon records in 1940 for George Ferguson, wife whose name I don’t know, and children named Billy and Annie?”

“Ferguson’s a fairly common name, but I could probably find them—if they did settle in Oregon—in a half hour or so,” Kassie said. “What will that tell you, though?”

Angie grinned. “Then I get on the phone in the evenings and call all the Fergusons you find in whatever town or county they went to and ask if they’re related to George. I might actually find a descendent who would be willing to give us a DNA sample to compare to the DNA of the young man whose remains were found near Maribelle’s. What do you think?”

“I think you should hope I find that they settled in a low population area,” Kassie said. “Anyway, I won’t charge you for doing this. It won’t take long. I might have something for you tomorrow.” The front door of the coffee shop opened, and a gaggle of high school girls walked in. “Back to work. I’ll call you when I have the results.” She got up and started toward the counter, then stopped and looked back at Angie. “But have you thought about the cost of getting the DNA samples to the lab and the testing done? The sheriff will probably want to maintain chain of custody, just like for Maribelle, since it does appear that the young man was murdered.”

Angie shrugged, picked up her sandwich, and took a big bite. She watched the customers come in and out of the coffee shop for a half hour, then sighed and stood up. Bussing the table, she dropped the remains of her lunch in the trash can by the counter and waited till Kassie finished making change for the last person in line. She handed a ten dollar bill over. “One more thing, Kassie. Would you have time to do a deep search on Christine Kepler?”

“The administrator over at Morning Sun Assisted Living?” Kassie frowned. “Why? And what specifically are you wanting me to look for?”

“I can’t say right now. Just do the usual background stuff—family, work history, criminal records, financial issues,” Angie said. “Whatever you can find with a couple hours work. And add it to the charges for the Ferguson family search.”

Kassie shrugged and nodded as another customer stepped up to the counter.

CHAPTER 35

Ed was surprised to see a Marietta cruiser parked in front of the sheriff’s office. Inside, he found Sheriff Mike Johnson talking with Matt Harper. “Hey, Mike. Am I early for our appointment?” He nodded at Matt, who was taking off his knit hat and gloves.

“No, I invited Matt to join us. Come on back to my office,” Johnson said. Ed and Matt followed him down the hall. The office was a maze of stacks of paper on the floor, file cabinets, visitor chairs, and the desk. Johnson picked up the stacks on the visitor chairs and placed them on the floor. “Take a seat, and we’ll get started.” He went around his desk and sat down.

“Ed, I wanted you to know what’s happening at the Morning Sun Assisted Living Home. It’s possibly going to close down or, alternatively, the residents are going to be faced with considerably higher fees.” Johnson turned to Matt. “Since the Morning Sun is in Marietta, I wanted you to know the details and may need some help from your guys.”

Ed pulled a notebook and a pen from his shirt pocket. “I assume this is on the record? What’s the story?”

“Yeah, on the record. Last week, Christine Kepler, the facility administrator, discovered that someone has been issuing purchase orders for supplies and equipment she didn’t authorize. Although, apparently, she did sign the checks when the invoices came in. That’s on her. She had her accountant go over the financial records, and it looks like at least $100,000 has been embezzled through the scheme over the past twelve months. Chris has done a complete inventory and verified that the equipment ordered and paid for never made its way into the facility. That’s a major hit on their finances. It’s a small facility, and it could go under financially.”

“Do you have a suspect?” Matt was taking notes.

“It’s clear that the receptionist, Jeannie Goshen, had a major role in the embezzlement. Chris had put her in charge of ordering and receiving purchases. And Jeannie has disappeared . . . just didn’t show up at work a week ago,” Johnson said.

Matt frowned. “I’ve met Jeannie. She’s the one who stutters, shy? It doesn’t seem likely that she came up with this on her own.”

Ed chimed in, “Yeah! And the little bit of interaction I had with her, she didn’t seem very smart.”

“I agree,” Johnson said. “My best guess is it’s J.P. McGill. Jim Harrington and your aunt Maude both said that J.P. was hanging around the reception area a lot. And Maude said she saw J.P. kiss Jeannie’s hand and whisper to her on one occasion. He took off about the same time Jeannie disappeared. So I’m thinking the two of them are together.”

Ed raised his eyebrows. “Unless J.P. decided to get rid of the one person who could tie him to the embezzlement. I wouldn’t put it past him. So what are you going to do about it, Mike?”

“I’ve talked to the state police and requested a BOLO on J.P. and Jeannie listing ‘wanted for questioning’ as the reason to stop them. In the meantime, we need to try to track the pilfered equipment and supplies and see if anyone involved can identify J.P. as the man who sold them the items.” Johnson nodded at Matt. “I’ll want you and your officers to assist the investigation. We’ll identify wholesalers and outlets that buy and sell exercise bicycles, treadmills, laptops, printers, and medical beds and question their owners. They also got away with major amounts of opioids, hypodermics, and medical supplies. Those will be a lot harder to trace. Opioids are black market, and trying to find informants who’re willing to talk is unlikely. But pharmacies might have purchased the medical supplies, so we need to talk to them too.”

“That’s a lot of places to investigate, Mike. I can’t spare more than one FTE to assign to this, and even that’s going to have me and my other officer doing time-and-a-half,” Matt said.

Johnson acknowledged Matt’s concerns with a nod. “I know. But I’m hoping you can spare one person for at least the next two weeks.”

Matt shrugged. “I can. But two weeks is pretty much the limit. Who of your deputies are you assigning?”

“Two deputies, full-time. Not much resources for an investigation of this magnitude, but it’s the best I can do. Here’s the plan.” Johnson picked up two sheets of paper from his desk and handed them to Matt. “I’m thinking the receivers of the merchandise are probably within a hundred miles, so we’ll start with local businesses—those are assigned to you and your men—here in the county, including Moorcraft and Hulett. My team will take Gillette, Spearfish, and Rapid City. If we don’t have any luck, we may expand beyond the local area and bring in Sheridan and Billings. But let’s see whether we can get some leads before we decide to do that.”

Matt scanned the list. “Okay, we can do the county. Probably take a few days. But what about internet sales? EBay, Etsy, Craigslist, those types of sites?”

“Good point, Matt. But I don’t have anyone on my staff who is familiar enough with computers to know how to do that.”

Ed raised a hand. “How about Kassie, Matt’s wife? She does all the web search work for 42 Investigations. And the paper’s used her to track down information.”

“I should have thought of her,” Johnson said. “She helped out when we were investigating the white supremacists and provided us with some useful information on their leader. Would you check with her, Matt? See if she’s willing to do a few hours of work looking at items for sale that match our inventory of what was taken.”

“Sure, no problem. She’s really busy between the coffee shop and the 42 Investigations cases. But she’ll probably agree.” Matt stood up. “Listen, I have to go. Red goes off duty at four, and I’ll need to meet with him and Bob to brief them on this. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you how we’re going to proceed.”

Johnson and Ed watched Matt leave. “He’s a good man,” Johnson said. “He’s really taken over the Marietta department.” He laughed. “Cleaned up the mess I left in the office for him right away. And even Red says he’s learning a lot, which is a goal I never achieved.”

“He is. Okay, how much of what I just heard is really on the record? I don’t want to mess up your investigation by revealing too many details.” Ed held his pen over his notebook.

“All of it’s okay, including the BOLO for J.P. and Jeannie. There may be people in town who know where they went. I’m guessing, for sure, that Bobby Lee and Lucas know where he went. They probably won’t tell us, but I’m going over to Morning Sun to talk to Bobby Lee now. And back up to the McGill Ranch later today.” He stood up. “Time to get to work. Once you have your story written, if you have any questions you can call me. I’ll tell you if there’s any updates.”

###

Maude poked Jim, who was dozing beside her on the sofa in the Morning Sun lobby. “Psst, Jim! Wake up. The sheriff just pulled up and parked. Maybe he wants to debrief us.”

Jim slowly opened his eyes. “I wasn’t asleep. Just resting my eyes. And I don’t know what the sheriff would want to debrief us on. We haven’t seen anything worth debriefing for.” He picked up his water bottle, which had fallen to the floor, and slowly stood up. The reception area was empty except for Geri, the CNA who normally would have been working in the fitness center.

Sheriff Johnson greeted them as he walked into the lobby. “Hey, Jim, anything new to report?” He shook Harrington’s hand and bent to take Maude’s extended hand. “You staying out of trouble, Maude? Wouldn’t want to haul you off to the county jail.”

“This surveillance stuff is purely boring, Sheriff,” Maude retorted. “Hard to get in trouble just sitting around and watching. We haven’t seen anyone, other than Chris’s accountant. What’s she doing here every day, anyway? That’s suspicious to me!”

“You’ll have to ask Chris about that,” Sheriff Johnson said. “I’m here to check in with you two, and I also have a couple of other things to talk to Chris about.” He headed toward the administrative wing of the facility. “Thanks for keeping an eye out, Maude and Jim. You can call me anytime if you see anything unusual.”

Maude stared after him. “I think he’s just giving us busy work to keep us out of his hair.” She raised one hand and extended the middle finger as Johnson disappeared into the administrative office.

Jim saw the shocked expression on the receptionist’s face at Maude’s gesture. “Cut it out, Maude. That’s not very ladylike.” He grabbed her hand and pulled it down.

“Oh, fooey. I’ve never been ladylike and don’t intend to change now,” Maude responded. “Besides, everyone knows that it’s funny when an old lady does something unexpected.” She chortled. “And I’m the queen of unexpected.” She yanked her hand from Jim’s and pointed at the entrance. “Hey, it’s Bobby Lee.”

Outside, the black Mercedes was backing up and re-aiming to avoid parking on an angle in a handicapped parking place. After the third attempt, the car was nearly within the lines, and the driver opened the door. Bobby Lee uncurled himself from the seat and poked his cane out before standing up. He closed the car door, then walked around to the trunk and opened it. His head and shoulders disappeared inside the trunk, and he re-emerged holding a laptop-sized bag. He slung it over his shoulder before walking to the entry door.

“Hi, Bobby Lee! Where have you been the last few days? We missed you around here,” Maude greeted him.

“Just up at the ranch. Trying to set my nephew, Lucas, straight. These young guys think they know everything, don’t they?” Bobby Lee dipped down and kissed Maude on the cheek. “What trouble have you been stirring up while I’ve been away?” He turned to Jim and shook his hand. “Good to see you, Jim. Your presence, I assume, means that you aren’t in jail for pulling a gun on Olaf’s grandson.”

Jim gave him a pained smile. “No charges, Bobby Lee. But it was touch and go for a while.”

“Well, good. Hate to see a good man run into legal problems,” Bobby Lee said.

“Yeah, thanks. Maude, I’m going to the fitness center. See you around.” Jim slowly hobbled toward the right hallway.

Bobby Lee sank down on the sofa. He reached over and patted Maude’s hand. “You’ve been consorting with an almost-felon, Maude, dear. You two have a romance going on?”

Maude guffawed. “No! Jim’s a nice guy, but too nice for me. I like a man with a little edge to him.” She glanced at Bobby Lee. “Now, you might be acceptable. I hear things that make me think you could be a touch exciting to be around.”

Bobby Lee shifted in his seat to face Maude. “Well, I like to think I haven’t lost all my moxie. I have a couple deals going on—which I can’t talk about—that should bring in some major moolah soon. Then I think I’m going to take a long cruise. Maybe around the world.” Bobby Lee reached in his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a passport. “I carry this with me wherever I go so I can take off at any moment.” He slipped it back in his pocket and pressed Maude’s hand. “How about you? Any big plans in the works?”

“No, I’m sorry to say. That thief that stole my money has me on short rations for a while. Eddie says I have enough to cover my costs here, but not a lot more.” Maude sighed. “Really gets me down. I’d love to go on a ’round the world cruise before I get too old to enjoy it.”

Bobby Lee chuckled. “What are you, seventy-eight? You don’t look a day over sixty-five. Well, who knows? If my ship comes in, like I’m expecting, maybe you’d like to travel with me. I’m like you. I like a feisty partner to travel with.”

Maude giggled. “I’m ninety-two, Bobby Lee. As you well know since you came to my last birthday party. But I’d take you up on the offer in a minute. I even have a passport in my room. Maybe I’ll take to carrying it around like you. So, tell me a little about this deal you have going. Is it with your handsome grandson, J.P.? I haven’t seen him around here for a couple weeks.”

“Not going to say, but I’ll give you a hint. What’s red and black and goes ’round and ’round?”

Maude frowned. “A red and black Ferris wheel?” Bobby Lee smirked and shook his head. “An embarrassed zebra tied with a rope to a pole?” Another head shake. “I give up. Tell me!”

“Nope, can’t. But, if it works and we go on that cruise, you’ll find out then. Say, I saw you flipping off someone when I was outside parking. Who was the target?”

“Oh, Sheriff Johnson. He’s in a meeting with Chris Kepler. He keeps warning me to keep out of trouble. Wants me to be an old lady who sits and crochets all the time, near as I can tell.”

Bobby Lee’s face blanched, and he leaned on the sofa arm and his cane to leverage himself up. “Sheriff Johnson, huh. Not one of my favorite people. I don’t want to run into him. He’ll just interrogate me more about J.P.” He leaned down and gave Maude a peck on the cheek. “I’ll be back tonight. Say hello to the girls for me.”

Maude watched as Bobby Lee walked as quickly as possible out the door and got in his car. “Ha,” she said aloud. “The sheriff thinks I’m useless? I know exactly where J.P.’s gone. Red and black and goes around? He’s in Vegas or Reno, I’d bet my favorite dessert.” She began wheeling down the hall to the administrator’s office.

CHAPTER 36

Kassie sent a text to Angie at ten o’clock at night: Didn’t want to wake you, if you went to bed early. I found the Fergusons in the 1940 Census. They settled in Morrow County in east-central Oregon. Let me know if you want me to do anything more. Only took me 15 minutes. Wife’s name is Matilda, BTW.”

Angie read the text and sent back a quick “thanks” text and Find anything on Christine Kepler?

Not finding anyone who matches the little info you gave me. If you had age, schools, prior location, it would help, Kassie texted back.

Angie responded with a Will look. Then, she Googled “Morrow County, Oregon” to find out the population of the county. Only about 12,000 in 2010. A reasonably small number, and few enough that she could probably call all the Fergusons living there in an hour. A quick check to find the ZIP code for Morrow County, and Angie began a search for Fergusons in that ZIP code on the White Pages website. There were twenty-one. Some looked like duplicates, but Angie decided to figure that out the next day. Maybe Sam would have time to help call each of these people and ask whether they were related to George and Matilda Ferguson, children Annie and Billy, who settled in Morrow County in the 1930s.

She let the dogs out for their final run of the night and made a cup of tea. Her phone dinged again with another text message. It was George Potts inquiring whether she had received his two voicemails today. Angie thought for a moment, her forehead wrinkled, then responded: I did. But have been terribly busy. Will try to call you tomorrow. She put the phone down and took a sip of her tea. Angie wasn’t sure what to do about George. She’d enjoyed her one friend-date with him, and he’d assured her he was happy to be “just friends”—at least until her feelings were clearer to her. But, somehow, seeing him again felt like a betrayal of Nick. On the other hand, putting him off felt like a juvenile move and risked ending what might be an enjoyable relationship. Damn, Angie thought. I’m too old to be feeling like a confused teenager! She called the dogs in, set the security code, and went to bed.

The next morning was sunny and cold. Angie opened her eyes to blue skies and fluffy white cumulus clouds overhead. The thermometer outside her bedroom window read twelve degrees. She stretched and yawned, then swung her feet out of bed and padded into the living room to let the dogs out. Bernie and Wrigley yapped wildly and sprinted for the big maple tree in the back of the cabin. A fat red squirrel raced up the trunk and, from its high perch, chittered angrily at the dogs circling the tree. Angie closed the door and left them to it. The cold seeped through the room, and she shivered. She turned on the coffee pot and went into the bathroom for a hot shower, then bundled herself into warm clothes. By the time she returned, the coffee was ready and the dogs were scratching at the door.

“You guys have fun?” Wrigley woofed, and Bernie wagged his tail. Angie poured kibble into their bowls and filled their water dishes. She dropped two cinnamon Pop-Tarts in the toaster and waited till they popped before taking coffee and breakfast to her computer desk. A quick check of email and the day’s headlines and she was ready to head into the office. “Ready to go to work, dogs?” Wrigley and Bernie barked enthusiastically. Bernie went to the closet door and pulled the two leashes off the knob. “Thank you, Bern.” Angie fastened the leashes to the dogs’ collars, put on her coat and knit cap, and went out the door, dogs trotting alongside.

Sam and Ed were at their desks when Angie arrived at the Times. “Good morning on this beautiful cold day,” Angie announced as she took off her coat. “We have a lot to do today. Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving, so we’re off. But I’d like us to have the paper ready to go on Friday so we can all have a relaxing weekend.” She slipped each dog a treat and pointed them toward her office.

“Short day for me today, Angie.” Ed was sitting back in his chair, his feet on the desk. “Kate’s got a long list of things for me to do to get ready for Thanksgiving dinner.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Number one is to ask you to bring the mincemeat pies. Short notice, but she didn’t get back from New Mexico until yesterday noon.”

“I can do that,” Angie said. “I ordered mincemeat from Amazon last week, figuring we’d want pies tomorrow. Tell Kate I’m on it and that I sing her praises for offering to do Thanksgiving this year.” She turned to Sam. “What’s your plans for tomorrow?”

“Tom’s folks are in from Freedom for the weekend. His mom’s busy cooking today at his place. My dad and I are going to Tom’s for Thanksgiving. I asked Mary if I could help with anything, but she just laughed and told me she had it under control.” Sam shook her head. “She certainly is a take-charge type.”

“Okay, let’s get to work today, enjoy tomorrow, and have a nice weekend,” Angie said. “Sam, you wrap up the advertising, classifieds, obituaries, and legal notices today. I have to write the rare earth mine meeting story and the county commission meeting this morning, then do layout. I’ll cover the parade tomorrow and write that up on Friday, and then I can finish the layout. Ed, I’m still waiting for your response to the advice column letter. And you have the medical board and police reports to finish. Can you do those before you leave?”

“Yep,” Ed grunted. He swung his feet to the floor and bent over his computer. “I have the advice column answer nearly done in my head. Fairly weird one, that. Man likes to sleep hanging upside down from the ceiling over the bed, and wife is worried that it might give him an aneurysm? Seems to me she should be worried about sleeping under him!”

“I agree,” Angie said, with a laugh. “Do your thing—sarcastic and hilarious. We need to attract a few more syndication deals.”

Ed bent to his task, and Angie went into her office. First on her list was a call to George. He wasn’t in, and she left a voicemail to say she was in the office if he wanted to call her back. “Have a wonderful Thanksgiving if I don’t talk to you before,” Angie added and clicked off. Three hours later, she stretched and got up. Stories were written and layout was nearly done, with a blank space on the front page for a picture and short article on the Marietta Thanksgiving Day parade.

“You guys want to go to the dog park?” Bernie and Wrigley leaped up from the under and behind the desk spots, tails wagging and eyes bright. Angie put on their leashes and walked into the front office. “I’m taking the dogs for a walk and then going next door for a sandwich.”

Ed looked up. “I’ll be gone when you get back. Kate’s called and added to my list. See you tomorrow at noon.” He turned back to the computer.

“Pick me up a corned beef and Swiss sandwich, please,” Sam asked. “I want to get out of here early, too, to check on Mrs. Adams and see if there’s anything I can help with.” She waved as Angie bundled up and opened the front door.

Despite the sunshine, the temperature had dropped and the wind had picked up. Fifteen minutes after their arrival at the empty dog park, Angie’s toes were frozen and her forehead was aching from the cold wind. She persuaded the dogs it was time to leave. After dropping them at the office, she dashed next door to the coffee shop.

“Hey, Angie. Cold enough for you?” Kassie was dressed in brown leggings and a yellow and red striped sweater and wore a crown of turkey feathers over her short black hair. “Your nose looks like Rudolph’s.”

Angie shivered and rubbed her arms. “Really cold out there,” she said. “A chai tea and two corned beef and Swiss sandwiches, please.” She headed to the back table, which was strategically placed under a heating vent. The coffee shop was nearly empty, despite it being twelve-thirty.

Kassie brought the two wrapped sandwiches and the tea over and placed them on the table. “Slow today. Probably everyone’s home cooking for tomorrow. Kids have the half day off from school too.” She sat down. “Did you get a chance to call any of those Fergusons in Oregon?”

Angie wrapped her hands around the hot tea cup. “No. I thought I’d do that this weekend. We’re rushing to wrap up the week’s edition of the paper on Friday, so I’ll have time after that. And besides, people are more likely to be home to answer their phone on the weekend.”

“Oh, Angie, you’re so old school. Nearly everyone has a cellphone and takes it with them wherever they go. But, hey, whatever works for you. Anyway, let me know what you find out. It would be exciting to find a related Ferguson and then be able to match their DNA to the unknown man whose bones Wrigley found.” The bell rang announcing a customer entering the coffee shop. “Gotta get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow. Are you bringing the mincemeat pies?” Angie nodded. “Well, I’m doing a seven-bean salad and a fruit and cheese plate.” She got up and headed to the counter where two customers were waiting.

Angie watched Kassie’s light-hearted banter with the high school students as she finished her sandwich. She enjoyed Kassie’s extroversion and out-there interactions with customers, knowing it was one of the reasons the coffee shop was the main gathering spot in Marietta. The customers were entertained by Kassie’s outrageous clothing choices and by her friendly and positive attitude toward all. Angie sighed, wishing she was more outgoing, and drank the last sip of her chai tea. She picked up the remains of her lunch and the sandwich she’d gotten for Sam and put on her coat. Back to work. And I really don’t much feel like it. She waved at Kassie as she went out the door and ducked into the Times office.

“Go on home, Sam,” Angie said. She took off her coat, tossed doggie treats to the pups, and laid Sam’s sandwich on the desk. “We can finish up on Friday.”

“I sent you the ads and the classifieds,” Sam said. She stood up and grabbed her coat from the hook by the front door. “There were a couple messages for you. I put them on your desk. One’s from George Potts—he asked me to tell you he’s leaving for Chile this afternoon. His ex-wife has finally agreed to let him visit his children. Said he’d call you when he got back in a week.”

Angie was surprised. George had given her the impression that his ex-wife was in hiding and that he had no idea where. “That’s a surprise,” Angie said. “But I’m happy for him. He said he hasn’t seen his kids for several years. Okay, you take off. I still have some work to finish up, but I plan to be out of here myself soon. Have a great Thanksgiving, and I’ll see you on Friday.”

Alone in the office, Angie plowed through finalizing the layout and put the finishing touches on two articles. At a little after three, she sat back and stretched. “Ready to go home, dogs?” Bernie and Wrigley jumped up and ran into the front office. Angie followed, put on her coat, knit hat, and gloves against the frigid outdoors, and headed home.

CHAPTER 37

Thanksgiving Day dawned cold and windy. Angie bundled up and drove to Main Street at nine-thirty. She stopped at the office to drop the dogs off and pick up the camera. Main Street was beginning to fill up with spectators waiting for the parade. It was an annual tradition and featured decorated cars and flatbed exhibits from most of the businesses in Marietta, as well as the usual procession of organizations and public service agency marchers. Business sponsors roamed the street, handing out coupons for sales and discounts that would be offered on Friday, one of the busiest shopping days of the year. The Nugget Café had tables at each end of the parade route to serve free hot chocolate and pumpkin cookies.

Angie could hear the high school band warming up and the scream of bagpipes played by the VFW’s Wild Pipers Group. At exactly ten o’clock, the parade marshal’s whistle sounded, and a sheriff’s cruiser started crawling slowly along the parade route. Three deputies were throwing miniature Baby Ruth candies to the crowd. It was followed by the band, blasting spectators with a rousing version of “The Washington Post March.” Business exhibits followed in alphabetical order: Axelrod’s Printing and Carpentry, Coyote Nickel Bar, Dillon’s Hardware, Law Offices of Mark Higgins, Ledbetter Foods, Rayson’s Pharmacy, SafeX Title Company, Subway, and Wrangler Pizza. The Coyote Nickel Bar’s entry was a truck pulling a flatbed with a bar erected in the middle. A bartender dressed as a Native American was serving large glasses of an amber liquid to a Pilgrim dressed in black and wearing a flat-top hat, who stumbled around the hay-strewn floor and fell off the flatbed as it reached Angie. She quickly took a picture. Definitely not politically correct, Angie thought. But at least it wasn’t as politically incorrect as having the Indian drinking the booze, as they had last year.

The bagpipers followed the businesses and stopped midway to play a stirring rendition of “America the Beautiful.” When the bagpipers finished, Marietta’s service organizations and agencies followed, holding up banners with their names. The Marietta Library group pushed a cart of free books and were surrounded by children trying to keep up and snatch books from the cart. Angie snapped a picture of one small child holding up a copy of Mog the Forgetful Cat and grinning ear to ear. A teen girl waved a copy of local author K.D. Gearhart’s Across Raven River and threw small cards with order forms to the crowd. The parade ended with Mayor Dylan Edwards and his wife in a pink Cadillac convertible with a rack of longhorns attached to the front, followed by a fire truck that sounded its siren as it reached the end of the parade route. Angie took a final picture of the mayor and his wife tossing bags of candy corn to onlookers and slung the camera around her neck.

Janice Meiners, owner of the Wak & Yak Beauty Salon spotted Angie and ran across the street. “Cold enough for you? What did you think about the Coyote Nickel float this year? You know Ed wrote an editorial last year criticizing the bar for having a drunk Indian being served by a Pilgrim. I guess someone there took it to heart.”

Or decided to be ironic this year, Angie thought. Janice was still speed-talking over the applause at the end of the parade.

“Hey, did you hear about J.P. McGill? He’s wanted by the police, I heard. Something about stealing from old people. And that little girl, Jeannie? She’s in on it too. I cut her hair just a few weeks ago, and she’s so shy she can hardly get a word out without sputtering. Hard to believe she’s a master criminal, right?” Janice elbowed Angie in the ribs. “But you never know about people, do you? Still waters run deep sometimes.”

Janice walked with Angie, continuing to chatter, as far as the Times office. Angie pulled out her key and unlocked the door. Bernie and Wrigley had their noses pressed to the window and windmill-wagged their tails as Angie put her hand on the door to open it.

“Oh, you’re going inside,” Janice said. “I thought maybe we’d get a hot chocolate and a cookie.” She waved in the direction of the Nugget Café’s table. “I wanted to tell you about the new shampoo and conditioner I got in. It’s the best new product on the market to cure dry winter hair and split ends. Come by the shop, and I’ll give you a sample to try!” Janice pulled a lock of Angie’s hair from under her knit cap. “Yep, definite split ends.” She dropped the hair and waved at someone she saw at the hot chocolate table. “Bonnie! Get some for me.” Angie ducked inside the office and gave Janice a small wave as the woman headed down the street.

“She can sure talk,” Angie said to the dogs. “Good thing I was standing close to the office and escape.” She ran her fingers down the curl of hair Janice had pulled out. “But maybe she’s right that I need a haircut and conditioner. Get the leashes, Bernie. It’s time to get over to Ed and Kate’s.” Angie opened the bottom file drawer and put the camera inside. She attached the leashes Bernie had retrieved to the dogs’ collars and headed out.

Kate was alone in the house when Angie arrived. “Ed’s run to the store to get some Cool Whip for the pumpkin pies,” she announced as Angie walked into the kitchen. “How did the parade go? Any drunk Indians this year?”

“No drunk Indians,” Angie said, laughing. She deposited the two mincemeat pies she’d brought on the counter. “Instead, the bar’s float had an Indian bartender serving a drunk Pilgrim. I’m not sure that’s much of an improvement. What can I do to help with dinner?” She breathed deeply, taking in the smells of roasting turkey, sage, garlic, and mulled cider. “When do we eat? I’m starved after standing outside freezing my fanny for an hour.”

“Dinner will be ready at two because Mike Johnson won’t be back from Gillette till then. He called first thing this morning and said the state police had Jeannie Goshen in custody. Apparently, the Las Vegas police picked her up at her hotel. She waived extradition, and the state police hauled her back here this morning. He went over to get her and deposit her in the county jail.”

“Really? What about J.P.? He wasn’t with her?”

“Mike said he was in the wind. Jeannie was practically hysterical, said he went out the night before and never came back.” Kate opened two of the cabinet doors. “How about you set the table while I finish up here? Eight people, including Aunt Maude and Jim Harrington.” She pulled open a drawer. “Silverware’s here, and napkins are in the top drawer of the hutch next to the dining table.”

“Who’s Jim Harrington? That name sounds familiar, but I’m not sure why,” Angie said. She reached up to take down eight Wedgewood plates from the top shelf of the cupboard.

“Former sheriff of Sublette County. He lives at Morning Sun, and he’s the one who enticed Maude to participate in the surveillance that nearly got her arrested,” Kate said with a smile. “He’s ten years younger than Maude, so I don’t think there’s anything romantic going on. Kassie and Matt are picking them up and bringing them here.”

“Oh, yeah. Now I remember. Funny story—old people gang up on innocent grandson.” Dishes and silverware loaded in her arms, Angie stopped and looked at Kate. “Kate, I have a problem, and I’d really value your advice. If we don’t get to talk today, because I know it’ll be hectic, could we get together for lunch or coffee tomorrow?”

Kate turned and regarded Angie, a serious expression on her face. “Of course, Angie. I’m free all day tomorrow, so just let me know when and where. Is this about Nick? Ed told me his father died and he had to return to Chicago to help his family. I was wondering how the situation would affect you.”

Angie opened her mouth to reply but stopped when she heard Ed yell out, “Honey, I’m home!” She smiled at Kate and gave a quick nod before going into the dining room to set the table.

The plates and silverware were laid, dark blue napkins contrasting with the white tablecloth and the blue of the Wedgewood plates. The centerpiece of the table featured yellow sunflowers and blue chrysanthemums surrounded by miniature pumpkins and a laughing scarecrow. Angie stood back and admired the table as she ladled mulled cider into a glass. A commotion at the front door drew her toward the living room, where Matt was unsuccessfully trying to steer Aunt Maude’s wheelchair past the door frame.

“Stop trying to help!” Maude snapped. She backed up the wheelchair and pushed forward, gouging a deep scratch into the side of the front door. “Eddie,” she yelled. “Your house isn’t handicap accessible. You need to fix that.” Her third try at the door was successful, and she wheeled into the center of the living room. Ed reached the living room door and grimaced. He leaned down and lightly hugged Maude before checking on the damage.

“Good to see you, Aunt Maude,” Ed said, turning around. “You, too, Jim. Take your coats off and come on in. Can I get you a glass of mulled cider? Soft or hard?”

Matt, trailed by Kassie, stalked into the dining room. “I’ll have the hard cider,” he muttered to Kassie. She ladled out one glass of each, handing him one. “She is the most exasperating woman I know,” Matt went on. “Compared to her, my mother is a saint.”

Angie was laughing at the scowl on his face. “You only drove her a mile and a half. What could she do in that short of time?” She glanced into the living room, where Ed and Jim were talking and Maude was interjecting opinions on the weather, the political situation, and the sad state of affairs in Wyoming. “Come on in the kitchen and tell all.”

Kate was taking the turkey from the oven. “What’s going on out there? Sounds like Maude’s on a rant.” She hugged Kassie and patted Matt on the back. “Thanks for picking up Maude and Jim. What did she do?”

“Want to see my shins? She slammed her wheelchair footrest into me when I tried to help her get in my truck. She said it was an accident, but I saw the glint in her eye.” Matt lifted his pant leg a little to show the spot of blood on his white sock. “And all the way here she complained about my driving, wanted me to speed up, and asked me if I’d seen my eye doctor recently. I’d prefer a belligerent drunk in the back seat of my cruiser to driving her home.”

Kate suppressed a smile. “Well, she’s a handful, I know. You should hear the stories Ed tells about her when she was younger. She once drove off a hired man at gunpoint because he swore at her. Actually fired a warning shot over his head—and not that far over his head.” Kate chuckled. “There’s been a few men in my life I wish I’d fired a warning shot at!” She patted Matt’s shoulder. “Ed or I’ll drive her back to the Morning Sun. Your ankles are safe. Do you need some antiseptic and a bandage? Upstairs in the bathroom, if you do.”

Matt left to go inspect his wounds. Kate and Kassie waited till he was out of earshot before laughing.

Another commotion at the front door announced the arrival of Sheriff Mike. Kate and Kassie went into the front room, where he was taking off his coat and hat. “Smells good in here, Kate. Thanks for inviting me.” Mike looked around the room. “And here’s the heroine of the week!” He hung his coat in the closet and went over to Maude. “We found Jeannie in a hotel in Vegas. You were right about Bobby Lee letting the cat out of the bag, lady.” He bent and took Maude’s hand. “Everyone! Maude’s smart and a great confidential informant! She gave us the information we needed to track down one of the fugitives we were looking for.” The gathered friends burst into applause, and Maude grinned widely.

“Happy to help, Sheriff. Is there a reward?” Maude gave Johnson a sly look. “Seems like there should be a reward.”

“Just the reward of feeling you’ve done your duty as a citizen, Maude.” Johnson said. “Maybe Angie here will write a news story about you.”

“Absolutely,” Angie said. “It’ll be in next week’s edition. I’ll personally deliver a copy to you.”

“How about ten copies? That way I can make sure all my friends at the Morning Sun read it,” Maude said. She turned to Johnson. “Did that girl tell you where J.P. was?”

Johnson shook his head. “He abandoned her in Vegas, and she was scared and alone when the Las Vegas police found her. She says she doesn’t have any idea where he went, but we’re holding her on charges at the jail.”

Angie made a mental note to check with him the next day. If anything came out of their questioning Jeannie, she could put a news brief in the paper about the search for J.P. before finalizing the week’s edition. If not, she’d use the space for a short story about Maude’s contribution to the manhunt.

Kate had disappeared into the kitchen. She emerged minutes later and announced dinner was ready. Her guests gathered around the dining room table as Kate, Kassie, and Ed paraded between the kitchen and dining room carrying steaming bowls of candied sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, cranberries, scalloped corn, seven-bean salad, and dinner rolls and laid them out on the buffet. The final additions were the turkey, roasted to brown perfection, a large bowl of bread stuffing, and gravy. Ed produced an electric knife and sliced the turkey into meal-size pieces. “It’s serve yourself, everyone,” Kate said. “Wine, beer, and water are on the table.”

An hour later, the men and Maude had retreated to the living room to watch football. Angie and Kassie were rinsing and placing dishes and silverware in the dishwasher, while Kate packaged up individual paper plates loaded with turkey and side dishes and stacked them in the refrigerator. “Everyone can take some home,” Kate announced as she wrapped the last plate in foil. “I kept enough for Ed and me for tomorrow and turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sandwiches on Saturday. Best part of Thanksgiving is leftovers, don’t you think?” Angie and Kassie agreed enthusiastically.

The kitchen and dining room restored to order, the three women sat down at the kitchen table. Kate poured coffee into three cups. “Now, catch me up on what’s been going on around here while I’ve been in New Mexico setting up our winter getaway.” She pushed back a lock of hair that had escaped her turquoise headband and sat forward, hands cupped around her coffee.

“Wrigley and Fergie have been going to dog school and are turning into well-mannered pups,” Kassie volunteered. “I had to take over the training, though, for Fergie. She apparently views Matt as a playmate, not an authority figure.”

“Doesn’t bode well for you when you have kids,” Kate said. “Any news about that possibility?”

“No,” Kassie said, with a touch of asperity. “And you really should stop asking every day. You’ll be the second to know, I promise.”

Kate ignored Kassie’s tone and turned to Angie. “And what’s going on with you and Nick? Anything new there?”

“Not really,” Angie said. “He’s in Chicago. I’m here. We talk, but . . .” Angie trailed off.

Kate patted her hand. “It’ll work out, one way or the other. But I’m here if you need to talk. Maybe tomorrow over lunch.”

Kassie frowned. “You two are having lunch tomorrow? What’s that about?”

“Just a welcome back for Kate,” Angie said. “I thought it would be nice to catch up on some things related to the paper when we didn’t have so many people around.”

Kassie’s eyebrows went up, but she didn’t say anything more. The three women chatted about the local gossip and the old-people scams and other news for a while, then joined the men and Maude in the living room. Fourth quarter, Denver Broncos were down by three and won in the exciting final seconds. An intense game of Monopoly and big slabs of pumpkin and mincemeat pie with ice cream and coffee rounded out the evening.

The short drive home in the dark had Angie thinking and reminiscing about pleasant times and good friends. Two deer watched silently as she pulled into her driveway. Overhead, the night was clear and dark, stars twinkling, Mars glowing red, and the wash of the Milky Way lighting the sky. Do I really want to leave all this? The life I’ve created here? The wonderful friends I’ve made? She stood outside for a minute, pulling her scarf up to cover her nose and mouth against the near-zero temperature, and stared at the sky. The dogs barked sharply, demanding to be released. Angie shook off her reverie and went inside the cabin.

CHAPTER 38

Jeannie Goshen was huddled on the cot in the cell. Her red hair was tangled, and her face was tearstained with mascara smudges trailing down her cheeks. The gray jail uniform hung loosely on her thin frame. She looked up at the sound of footsteps and rattling keys. Sheriff Johnson stood outside her cell holding a Styrofoam box and a steaming cup of coffee.

“Breakfast, Jeannie. Scrambled eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, and toast,” Johnson said. He unlocked the cell door as Jeannie scrambled to her feet. She took the box, then Johnson closed the door behind him and handed her the coffee.

“Cream or sugar?” Johnson reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out packets of creamer and sugar and a swizzle stick. Jeannie nodded and gingerly took them from him.

“I thought we could talk while you ate,” Johnson said. “Let me tell you where things stand.”

Jeannie sat down on the cot and dumped three packets of creamer and four sugars into the cup of coffee. She took a sip, then opened the top of the Styrofoam box, extracted the plastic fork, and began shoveling eggs into her mouth. She looked up at Sheriff Johnson and nodded.

“You remember I read you your rights last night when my deputy delivered you here?” Jeannie nodded and kept eating. “Okay, you said then you didn’t want us to provide a lawyer. Is that still the case?” Jeannie nodded again. “So here’s where we are. We have a witness who observed you and J.P. at the Morning Sun Assisted Living Home. He overheard J.P. talking about stealing money from one of the residents and saw you give a key to the resident’s room to J.P. That means you are part of a conspiracy to commit theft. That’s a felony, and you could go to prison. Do you understand that?”

Jeannie’s eyes brimmed with tears, and she nodded again. “B-b-but he didn’t actually s-s-s-steal anything,” she whispered.

“It doesn’t matter that he didn’t actually steal anything, Jeannie,” Johnson said. “Conspiracy is a still a crime, and you were an active participant when you gave him the key.” He looked at her, his face grave. “And we’re fairly certain J.P. was involved in the scam about the animal shelter and possibly thefts of equipment and pharmaceuticals from the Morning Sun. There’s no evidence, so far, that you had anything to do with the animal shelter scam. But if J.P. was involved in the thefts at the Morning Sun, you could be in a lot of trouble.”

“N-n-nooo!” Jeannie wailed. She began sobbing and collapsed across the cot. “I d-d-didn’t. I w-wouldn’t do anything to steal from those nice old people.” Her face flushed bright red, and she gasped for air.

“But you did, didn’t you? When you gave J.P. the key, you were intending to help him to steal from one ‘nice old man.’ And if you’re involved in the thefts of Morning Sun equipment, then you’re responsible for what will probably be a rent increase for those ‘nice old people,’” Sheriff Johnson responded.

Jeannie sat up and looked at him, despair in her eyes. “I didn’t know anything about the animal shelter scam before, but J.P-P-P told me about it when we were driving to Vegas. I t-t-told him that was a terrible thing to do. Some of our residents haven’t very much money and c-c-could have to leave the Morning Sun if they c-c-can’t pay anymore.” Her voice caught, and she coughed before leaning toward the sheriff. “And I didn’t have anything to do with wha-wha-what is happening to the Morning Sun equipment. I t-t-told Mrs. Kepler I thought s-s-some equipment was missing from the inventory, but she just said it was out for repair or something.” She looked at him, hopeful. “Just ask her! I d-d-did tell her about it! Why would I d-d-do that if I was responsible?”

Sheriff Johnson walked over and sat down next to her on the cot, moving the Styrofoam box to the floor. “Look, Jeannie. I believe you. I think J.P. used you to help him commit these crimes. If you help us to find him and are willing to testify, I can ask the judge for leniency for you on the conspiracy charge. You’d probably only get probation, not actual prison time.”

Jeannie’s eyes filled again. “I don’t know where he went, Sheriff. He g-g-got a phone call, and I c-c-could hear him arguing with whoever it was. I don’t know f-f-for sure, but he might have b-b-been talking to his grandfather, B-B-Bobby Lee. Then he grabbed his c-c-clothes and stuffed them into his b-b-bag and slammed out of the hotel room.” She burst into tears and buried her face in her hands.

Sheriff Johnson stood up. “That’s helpful, Jeannie. Very helpful. I’ll be back to talk to you some more. You finish your breakfast, and I’ll ask someone to bring you another cup of coffee.”

Jeannie looked up at him and tried to smile. “Thank you,” she whispered, wiping her face with the sleeve of her gray uniform.

###

Sheriff Johnson had just issued a radio call to his deputies on patrol to be on the lookout for J.P.’s pickup truck when he heard a loud commotion in the front office. Johnson moved to the door of his office and carefully peered around the edge, one hand unsnapping the holster on his hip. The three prisoners in the cells leaped from their cots and rushed to the bars to watch. Johnson slipped past them and quickly strode down the hall. The noise level had risen, and he heard shouts of “Put me down!” and “I’ll get you for this, Alvin! You’ll be sorry!” Then there was a heavy thud. The shouting stopped as he carefully opened the door between the front office and the hallway.

J.P. McGill was on the floor. A huge man, black beard down to mid-chest and foot on J.P.’s chest, occupied the middle of the office. J.P. was gasping for air, his arms waving futilely. Johnson recognized Alvin, the McGill’s employee. Becca, the receptionist, was crouched down behind the desk.

“What’s going on here?” Sheriff Johnson re-snapped his holster and stepped into the office just as the front door opened and Lucas McGill strolled in. Lucas stood and looked at J.P. on the floor, then bent down and whispered into J.P.’s ear. J.P. stopped struggling and glared at Lucas.

Lucas stood up. “Sheriff, I’ve made a citizen’s arrest and am delivering this felon to you. I found J.P. hiding in the horse barn, and Alvin subdued him. He’s admitted everything, and I’m willing to testify to what he told me.” Lucas handed a money clip stuffed full of hundred-dollar bills and a wallet to the sheriff. “I confiscated what’s left of the money he stole from the residents of the Morning Sun. In addition, I’ll make full restitution to the victims of his crime to cover their losses.”

Alvin still had his foot planted heavily on J.P.’s chest. Sheriff Johnson leaned down and inspected J.P.’s blood-smeared face. “Looks like he put up a fight,” he said, standing and facing Lucas.

“He did,” Lucas said grimly. “But Alvin punched back. J.P. might need a doctor for that nose. Looks like it might be broken.”

“Are you going to behave yourself if Alvin lets you up, J.P.?” Sheriff Johnson bent down and pulled J.P. to his feet as Alvin lifted his foot and hovered near.

J.P. stood, unsteadily, and launched a blob of spit at Alvin. Alvin wiped his face then grabbed J.P’s shoulder and pressed it between his thumb and fingers. J.P. screamed, his arm dangling uselessly.

“Interesting move,” Sheriff Johnson said. “You’ll have to teach it to me sometime.” He pulled handcuffs from his equipment belt and cuffed J.P.’s hands behind his back. “Okay, let’s get J.P. tucked away in a cell, and then we can talk.” He led J.P. to the last empty cell at the end of the corridor. J.P. resisted going inside, his long brown hair dangling in his eyes, and ended up sprawled across the concrete floor.

Across the hall, Jeannie stared incredulously and then jumped to her feet. “Is that J-J-P-P?” She let out a bloodcurdling scream. “You l-l-left me! With no m-m-money or c-car! You b-b-b-bastard!”

J.P. scrambled up from the floor and made for the cot on the far side of the cell. Jeannie screamed again and began beating on the bars. He looked imploringly at Johnson. “Could you maybe put me in a different cell?” His eyes flicked toward Jeannie, and Johnson smiled.

“Nope. Enjoy your stay.” Johnson closed the cell door, locked it, and headed back to the front office where Becca, Lucas, and Alvin were staring down the hallway. “Okay, J.P. is stowed away. Becca, would you please make a fresh pot of coffee and bring three cups to my office. Oh, and call Chief Harper in Marietta and ask him to come over. He’ll want to be in on this.”

The three men went into the sheriff’s office and sat down. “Now, Mr. McGill, why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Lucas crossed his legs and cleared his throat. “A couple days ago, Bobby Lee—my uncle and J.P.’s grandfather—came up to the ranch in a panic. He said he and J.P. had done something that they could go to prison for, and he wanted me to help cover it up. They were responsible for the animal shelter scam on the residents of the Morning Sun assisted living facility. Got away with over $100,000 and split it with one of the computer programmers who works for me. There’s about $50,000 in J.P.’s money belt and wallet. As I said, I’ll reimburse any additional amounts that the victims lost.” He looked at Sheriff Johnson. “I know my family doesn’t have the best track record, but I assure you I knew nothing about what they were doing. My father, who died twenty years ago, urged me to take the family legitimate. He saw computers as the wave of the future and sent me to M.I.T. to get a degree and the knowledge to do that. My sons followed in my footsteps and came up with the plan to create a computer telemarketing and help desk business.” He took a deep breath. “Uncle Bobby Lee and J.P. always glorified the family rustlers and thieves. I really had no idea what they were up to, and when I found J.P. in the barn, I decided the only way to convince you and others that I wasn’t involved was to turn him in.” Lucas nodded at Alvin. “With help from Alvin.”

Sheriff Johnson’s face was skeptical. “I’d be more likely to believe you if you had turned in Bobby Lee too. Right now I’m thinking you heard we were closing in on those two and decided to cut your losses by giving them up.”

“Bobby Lee jumped in his car and drove off as soon as he figured out that I wasn’t going to help him. That was two days ago, and I haven’t heard from him since. If I do, I’ll let you know right away.” Lucas took a deep breath. “According to Bobby Lee, the animal shelter scam wasn’t the only crime they were committing. They were stealing Social Security numbers from people and selling them. That’s where my company comes in. Apparently, one of my telemarketers was working with them, asking customers who called in to order products for their Social Security numbers and turning the list over to J.P. My uncle wouldn’t tell me which employee was part of that, but he did say it was only one of them. Sharlene Havlic didn’t show up for work yesterday or today, so I expect she’s the one. But I’ve brought her social security number and address, in case you need them.”

“You provide me with that information on her, and we’ll track her down. We also suspect that J.P. may be involved in some thefts of equipment and drugs at the assisted living facility. What do you know about that?”

Lucas’s eyes widened. “I’m not aware of that, though I wouldn’t put it past J.P. I know he was romancing that young girl that worked at the reception desk. Maybe they were working together?” He rubbed his forehead. “This is really a nightmare. I had no idea.”

Sheriff Johnson had been making notes as Lucas talked. He put down his pen and stood up. “I’ll need to talk to you in more detail in a day or two. In the meantime, we’ll see if we can locate the missing computer telemarketer. If you learn where your uncle is, please contact us right away.” Lucas and Alvin rose from their chairs. Sheriff Johnson escorted them to the front office and shook hands with both Lucas and Alvin. “I appreciate you bringing J.P. in. We’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Lucas said, opening the door. “I hope Bobby Lee comes forward voluntarily. He truly is in the early stages of dementia, so please be gentle with him if you find him.” He waved Alvin through the door. “As for J.P., you can throw the book at him. He’s . . . well, he’s been a problem since he was a young boy. That’s why his mother sent him here—she thought ranch life might straighten him out.” Lucas shook his head. “Just transferred his problems from one place to another.” He held the door open for Matt, who had just arrived, then left.

“That was Lucas McGill and his man. What were they doing here?” Matt looked inquiringly at Sheriff Johnson.

“Come on back to my office, and I’ll fill you in,” Johnson said. “Turns out there’s more crime in the county than we knew.”

Ten minutes later, Matt shook his head. “So, besides the theft from the old people’s bank accounts, we have a computer fraud collecting and selling Social Security numbers and theft of equipment and drugs from the assisted living facility. And you think J.P. and Bobby Lee McGill are responsible for all of these?”

“For two of the three crimes, I do. Jeannie Goshen said J.P. admitted the animal shelter scam to her. And Lucas told me that Bobby Lee confessed about the Social Security number deal. Both will testify to that. We don’t yet have evidence linking them to the thefts at the assisted living place. Jeannie claims not to know anything about that, although she did say she noticed what she thought were missing items from the inventory and reported it to Ms. Kepler, her boss.”

“Hard to believe Jeannie wouldn’t be involved, if thefts were going on there and J.P. was involved,” Matt said.

“I agree. But we’ll need to do more digging to get the evidence on that one.” Sheriff Johnson stood up. “Let’s go get J.P. and see what he has to say.”

J.P. was on the cot in the cell, a blanket covering his head. When he heard the cell door unlock, he pulled the blanket off and blinked. Jeannie immediately began shrieking at him again. “Get me away from her! She’s nuts,” J.P. demanded. A chorus of voices from the other cells echoed his complaint.

“Jeannie, be quiet,” Sheriff Johnson yelled. The shrieking stopped, but Jeannie clung to the bars of her cell and glared at J.P. as he left. Her tearstained face was red with fury as she reached out and grabbed at J.P. He cowered behind Matt and moved quickly down the corridor.

“Where are you taking me?” J.P. asked.

“To my office,” Johnson grunted. “We need to clear some things up.”

When they reached Johnson’s office, Matt pointed at one of the two chairs. “Sit.”

J.P. sat down and casually began to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. “What now?” Matt snapped a handcuff on one of J.P.’s wrists and attached the other handcuff to the metal post on the back of the chair. “Aww, come on, man. You don’t need to handcuff me. It’s too tight, and my shoulder hurts.” J.P. rubbed his wrist where the handcuff was biting in.

“Well, we do need to handcuff you. Police protocol,” Johnson said. “Now I’m going to read you your rights.” He proceeded to recite the Miranda warning. “Do you understand what I just told you?”

“I do,” J.P. said, his face sulky. “And I demand to see an attorney. I’m not saying a word without an attorney.”

“Can you afford an attorney? If not, we will provide you with one,” Johnson said.

“I have money, which you have in your office,” J.P. answered. “I want a private attorney, not some loser public defender.”

Sheriff Johnson smiled. “The wallet and money clip your uncle gave us is currently evidence in our case against you. Unless you’re tried and found not guilty, you won’t get it back.”

J.P. overturned the chair when he tried to jump to his feet. He, and the chair, crashed to the floor. Matt pulled him and the chair back up. J.P. had a rapidly developing knot on his forehead. “You can’t take my money! That’s illegal!”

“Nope, it’s not. We have the right to confiscate illegally obtained funds. And according to witnesses, that money came from your scamming the folks at the Morning Sun.”

J.P. sputtered, then muttered, “I’ll kill that bitch.”

Johnson looked at Matt. “I think I just heard a threat against a witness, didn’t you? That’s also a felony.”

“Yep. Hey, J.P., do you want to have a public defender? It might take a couple days,” Matt said, a smile on his face. “I’m sure Jeannie will calm down soon.”

J.P. started to shake his head, then brightened. “No, I want to make a phone call. I have a right to a phone call.” Matt handed a cellphone to J.P. and watched as J.P. punched in numbers with a shaking hand. A minute later, J.P. said into the phone, “Bobby Lee, where are you? I’m being arrested in Sundance. Get me a lawyer. Now!” He hung up and handed the phone back to Matt. “Okay, I’ll wait till my grandfather gets here. But put me in a different cell. Cruel and unusual punishment isn’t allowed.”

Sheriff Johnson and Matt laughed and escorted J.P. back to his cell. As they walked back to the front office, Jeannie’s screams began. “What do you want me to do next?” Matt asked. “It sounds like the only outstanding issue is the thefts at the Morning Sun, right?”

“Yeah. Why don’t you go over and meet with the administrator. She was supposed to send me a complete list of what’s missing, dates purchased, and approximate date when each item went missing. Maybe she has some ideas about who might be involved. And keep an eye out for Bobby Lee McGill while you’re there. Talk to some of the residents, see if he’s been around.”

“Will do,” Matt said. “I’ll get back to you with anything I learn.”

CHAPTER 39

Kate was sitting at a back booth at the Nugget Cafe when Angie walked in. She waved to get Angie’s attention and stood up. Angie spotted her and came over. The two women hugged and sat down. Kate looked intently at Angie. “You’re looking good today. I thought you seemed a little stressed and tired at Thanksgiving.”

“I was. Worry over the paper’s finances, mainly. And I just hadn’t been feeling well for a few weeks. Wonky stomach and tired all the time,” Angie said. “But all of a sudden, today, I woke up and felt fine. So whatever it was, I seem to be over it.” She sighed. “But that doesn’t solve the problem with the paper’s finances. I assume Ed told you all about that?”

Kate laughed. “In great detail and at much greater length than was necessary. I take it he doesn’t want to give up the twenty-five percent of the advice column revenues, for one thing. We can brainstorm over lunch. I have a few ideas. Let’s order and then we can talk.”

The Nugget was bustling with diners at twelve-thirty. The oak-paneled walls of the cavernous dining area were covered with Western paintings and stagecoach wheels. A huge buffalo hide painting of an Indian encampment with children riding horses and women cooking over open fires, Devils Tower in the background, hung over the bar at one end of the room. Different types of barbed wire and plaques describing them ran across the upper walls. Angie studied the barbed wire plaques, trying to discern differences between them, while Kate tried to get the attention of the waitresses. Finally, one headed their way.

“Sorry for the wait, ladies,” Rosann—according to the nametag on her sparkly embroidered shirt—said. “We got a busload of tourists just before you came in. What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have a buffalo burger and sweet potato fries,” Kate said. “And a glass of cider.”

Angie scanned the menu again. “Okay, I’m starving. How about the walleye platter, extra tartar sauce, fries, and coleslaw. And iced tea.”

As Rosann wrote down their order and sprinted away, Angie turned to Kate. “I’d love to hear your ideas about the Times, but I actually wanted to talk to you about something else.

Kate regarded her with a half-smile. “Nick?”

Angie leaned against the back of the booth. “I just don’t know what to do. Nick can’t come back here, at least not any time in the foreseeable future. He wants me to move back to Chicago and . . . and . . .” Tears filled her eyes.

“And he wants to marry you,” Kate said softly. She smiled. “Why is that out of the question, Angie? Nick’s a good man. We all know that. To say nothing of good-looking. You two would have beautiful children.”

Angie held up a hand, fingers folded. She lifted her index finger. “One, he’s never been married before, and he’s almost forty years old. I’ve been married three times, and each one was worse than the last. My judgment sucks. And there seems to be something about me that brings out the worst in men I marry. I love Nick, and I don’t want to ruin his life!”

“Oh, phooey! You made some mistakes. It happens. I have a friend who had two husbands a lot worse than your three . . .  one absconded with all of her money and left her with over $100,000 in debts she didn’t know about. The other ended up in prison for being a pedophile. She found a new husband, and they’ve been happily together for thirty-five years. What else you got?”

“He wants to have children,” Angie squeaked out. “I never even was interested in playing with dolls when I was a kid. I don’t know anything about babies, and I’m too old. If I had a baby next year, I’d be almost forty. Almost sixty by the time it graduated from high school.” She looked at Kate in despair. “What if I died? It’d be an orphan!”

“Well, first, let me give you some statistics. At age 40, in good health, non-smoker, the probability is that you’ll live to age 97. I’ve been doing a project on the effects of smoking on longevity. So there’s not much chance you’ll die and leave your child an orphan. Which he or she wouldn’t be anyway, since presumably Nick would still be around. And even if you did die, he has all that family in Chicago to provide love and attention and support.”

“You always have statistics, don’t you?” Angie gave a tremulous smile. “Okay, but what about the cultural thing. I met lots of his family when we went to Chicago last summer. They’re very close, and it’s clear that they all—and especially his grandmother—want Nick to marry someone of Greek heritage. I’d be on the outside.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, get over yourself. America is the melting pot. Sure, Nick’s parents are first-generation immigrants, but they welcomed you knowing you were Nick’s girlfriend and that you aren’t Greek. And if any of them had reservations, that baby you may produce will overcome that in a minute! Go to Greece on your honeymoon, learn enough of the Greek language to talk to the grandmother a little. You’re a smart girl. If you want to be with Nick, you’ll figure it out!” Kate was getting exasperated. “It’s not that I want you to leave Wyoming and move back to Chicago. Hell, Ed will probably put me in charge of the paper while he’s off gallivanting in the woods with his buddies.” She giggled. “At least till he comes back and finds that I’ve turned the paper into a local version of The Economist or The Wiccan Times.” Kate thought for a moment. “Look, I’m not saying you should or shouldn’t go to Nick. But don’t make the decision based on your fears. Make it because you’ve thought it through and you know being with him is what you want. Everything else will work out from there.”

Rosann arrived and put their plates and drinks in front of them. “Anything else I can get for you? We have banana cream pie and hot apple pie with ice cream on the menu today. Let me know if you want dessert.” She sashayed away toward the kitchen.

Kate and Angie were silent as they ate. Angie was thinking, hard, about what Kate had said. Is it true that I’m just afraid? Thrice fooled, thrice shy, or whatever that saying is? I do love Nick, but . . . stop with the “buts.” I love him! Enough to give up the life I’ve made here? Her mind was whirling. She finished the last bite of her walleye and fries and coleslaw in record time.

Kate was looking at her in amusement. “I guess you were hungry. You scarfed that down in three minutes!” She took another bite of her buffalo burger. “Look, I’m not going to say any more about this. And it’s obvious that you’re not sure what you want to do. What I’d do is make a decision chart. Write down what you think are the pros and cons of marrying Nick, then look at them and see how they’re weighted. Then write down where you see yourself in five years and ten years, under each scenario—Chicago and Nick vs. Wyoming and the Times. That may help you understand the implications of whatever decision you make.” Kate took another bite then reached out and patted Angie’s hand. “There’s no right or wrong decision. Just do your best and don’t look back, whatever decision you come to. Now, let’s talk about the paper and my ideas for increasing revenues and profits.”

###

The dog park was empty aside from Bernie and Wrigley. Light snow was falling, and Angie shivered and pulled her scarf up to her chin. Wrigley was snuffling around the sole tree in the middle of the dog park, while Bernie ran in circles and alternated between flinging himself down in the snow and rolling on his back, legs in the air. Angie was about to call the dogs and head for home when her cellphone rang.

“Hello, this is Angie.”

“Angie, this is Barb Wilson. Is this a good time to talk?”

“I’m about to leave the dog park. What’s up?”

“I have a favor to ask you. Remember what I told you about the situation at the assisted living facility? Well, I did talk to Christine today and explained that the thefts had been going on for months before the receptionist, Jeannie, was hired. I tried not to suggest that I was suspicious of her, but I am. I went back over the purchase orders and inventory reports for the past three years. It looks to me like the problem started a few months after she arrived at the facility two years ago.”

“How did she react, Barb?” Angie had settled back down on the bench. “Did she seem worried or nervous?”

“Not at all. She just threw out a few names—one of the CNAs and a couple of the cleaning people who’d been on the staff when she was hired. Then she said to give her the report I’d prepared and she’d talk to the board when it meets tomorrow. I asked if she wanted me to come to back up her presentation, and she said no. Then I asked if she was going to report it to the police, and she said she’d already talked to Sheriff Johnson and he was moving forward with an investigation.” Barb’s voice was worried. “I’m not sure what to do. I have a responsibility to the board of directors. They hired me. But . . .” She paused, then went on. “That’s where the favor I want to ask you comes in. Would you come with me to the board meeting tomorrow? I feel like I should go, but it would help if someone from the press was there too. So Christine knows she can’t stop me from talking without exposing herself to public scrutiny.”

Angie thought for a moment. “Well, this is actually on-the-record information now, Barb. Sheriff Johnson told Ed a couple days ago, and we’ll be running a story about it in the paper next week.” She checked the scheduler on her phone. She had a meeting with Mayor Edwards at ten the next morning, but he’d be fine with re-scheduling. “Okay, I can do that. What time do you want me there?”

Barb let out a loud sigh of relief. “Thank you! The meeting starts at nine. Can you be there about eight forty-five? I want to be there early enough to set up a PowerPoint to walk through the numbers—we’re talking nearly $200,000 over the two years Christine has been administrator—and the timeline.”

“Fine. I’ll be there. And I’ll record the meeting, too, to be sure I get the story in detail for the paper.” Barb thanked Angie again and hung up.

Angie whistled for the dogs and loaded them into the truck. The snow was ankle-high, and the wind had picked up and was blowing to near whiteout conditions by the time they reached the cabin. Angie unlocked the cabin door and punched off the security alarm. “We’re going to have to get up early tomorrow, guys. Need time to shovel out before heading to the meeting,” she announced to the dogs as she filled their dog bowls and popped a Lean Cuisine into the microwave. They seemed fine with an early start.

CHAPTER 40

Snowplows were still moving the foot-and-a-half of snow from the roads in Marietta the next morning. The plows piled it in high mounds in the center of the streets, then loaded the snow into dump trucks that hauled it off to the edges of the forest. Angie got stuck behind a plow and was a few minutes late to the meeting at the assisted living facility. “You guys hang out here, and I’ll be back in an hour,” Angie said to the dogs. She tossed them each a Milk-Bone and slid out of the truck.

The small meeting room was full when Angie walked in. The ten members of the Morning Sun Board of Directors were standing around, drinking coffee and eating pastries. Barb Wilson was standing by a laptop placed next to a projector. She spotted Angie and waved her over.

“You’re late, but Christine’s not here yet either,” Barb said, fiddling with the projector. “There! I got it to work.” The screen on the wall displayed the first page of the report on purchases and inventory for the facility, by date.

“Roads are bad. That’s probably why Christine is late,” Angie said. “I’ll take a seat over there and just be a fly on the wall.”

Barb nodded, distractedly, as Mayor Edwards joined her at the head of the table. He whispered something, and she nodded and sat down.

“All right, everybody. It’s nine fifteen. I think we should get started, and Christine will probably show up soon,” Edwards announced. “Let’s start with reading the minutes from the last meeting.” The board members took their seats, and a middle-aged woman with short pink hair began reading the previous month’s meeting minutes. There was unanimous approval of the minutes, and the mayor moved on to plans for renovation of the facility’s dining room. “Any comments or discussion?” A spirited discussion of the best color for the walls of the dining room ensued. “Okay, folks, the two choices seem to be blue or yellow. Do you want to vote on those?”

One of the older women at the table timidly raised her hand. “Yes, Mrs. Picker?”

“I think we should ask the residents what color they prefer,” Mrs. Picker said. “They’re the ones who have to spend three hours a day in the dining room.” She paused, then added, “And we’re always talking about how the residents should have more say in day-to-day operations.”

“Good point!” Several of the board members nodded agreement. “Who wants to take responsibility for surveying our residents?” Edwards asked. There was silence.

“Isn’t that Christine’s job? I think we should ask her to gather the information,” the pink-haired woman finally said.

Edwards shrugged. “Sure, I’m certain she’ll be pleased at one more thing to do. Add it to the minutes, Hannah.”

“That’s what she gets for missing the meeting,” another board member added. “Everyone knows if you don’t attend, you get volunteered for whatever no one else wants to do.” There were chuckles all around. “Hey, where is she, anyway? It’s nine thirty already. Even if she got stuck in the snow, someone should have dug her out by now.”

“I’ll follow up with her after the meeting, Sam,” Edwards said. “I’m sure she’s fine. Now, we have some new business to discuss. Barb Wilson, our accountant, has a presentation to make. She hasn’t even told me what it’s about, but I’m hoping it’s good news on the budget. Barb?”

Barb stood up. “Well, actually it’s not good news, Dylan. I’ve spent the last few weeks going back several years. I believe there’s substantial evidence that there have been significant thefts of equipment and drugs at the facility—so significant that the finances are now on shaky ground. It’s likely that you will need to raise residents’ rates to avoid closing down.” Several of the board members gasped. Others shook their heads in disbelief.

“Let me walk you through this,” Barb went on. She turned on the projector and clicked to the first slide. “I went back three years and tracked major equipment and pharmaceutical purchase orders against inventory. For the first year, as you can see on this chart, there was a close match between purchases and the documented inventory of equipment at the end of the year—beds, exercise equipment, furniture are all accounted for.” She clicked on the next slide. “Same with pharmaceuticals. I tracked purchases and quantity, by drug, and compared it with number of residents who were prescribed each drug. Near perfect match.” She moved to the next slide. “However, in the second year, deviations begin to appear. For instance, this slide shows that two new treadmills were purchased for the fitness room and one Nu-Step recumbent bicycle. However, the inventory shows that at the end of the year, the number of treadmills only increased by one and there was no change in the number of Nu-Steps in the fitness center.” Barb continued with display of the data for the second year. “I estimate a loss of about $22,000 in expenditures for equipment that year and about $15,500 in missing pharmaceuticals.”

Dylan Edwards held up a hand. “Barb, before you go on. Have you presented this information to Christine?”

“I have, Dylan. She was planning to bring it to the board’s attention today. I offered to compile these data for her, but she felt it wasn’t necessary,” Barb said. “I thought it was, so here I am.”

Edwards frowned but motioned Barb to go on.

“On to the just-ended fiscal year,” Barb said, pulling up another slide. “The rate of loss has dramatically accelerated.” She pointed out key data points on the next three slides. “Overall, I estimate that the Morning Sun has experienced a loss of at least $125,000 attributable to purchases of unaccounted for major equipment and pharmaceuticals in the past fiscal year. Due to these losses, the Morning Sun is currently operating in the red. The surplus fund is down to a few thousand dollars, and it will not be possible to pay salaries and supply costs by next month.” She turned and faced the board. “I recommended to Christine that this information be turned over to the police and an investigation initiated to identify the person or persons responsible. She has done so and planned to discuss this with you and decide what the next steps should be.” She sat down and opened her briefcase. “I brought copies of the presentation for all of you.” She passed the stack to the board member on her right, who took a copy and passed them on. “I’m really sorry to have to bring you this news.”

A board member raised his hand. “Most of our residents are covered by Medicaid—I think nearly eighty percent. Medicaid doesn’t permit us to raise rates. The amount we would need to raise the rates on the half-dozen private pay residents would be exorbitant. They’d move to different facilities, which would make our problem even worse.”

Barb nodded. “That’s correct, Hiram. I did a rough estimate, and to cover the budget shortfall you would need to raise the private pay rates by about $2,000 a month. Not a viable option.”

It was clear that the board members were stunned by the revelation. Edwards stood up. “Thank you, Barb. I think we need to go into a closed session and discuss this. I’ll also need to talk to Christine and find out what her thoughts are on resolving the budget issue. Thank you again.” He looked around the room and spotted Angie sitting quietly in the back. “Angie, I’d appreciate it if you don’t publish this in the Times until we have a strategy for going forward.”

Angie nodded and packed up her notebook and recorder. “I’ll wait to hear from you before writing anything. I know there will be a lot of concerned relatives, as well as residents. It’s not the position of the paper to sensationalize the news. I hope you’re able to come up with a satisfactory approach.” She joined Barb at the door, and they went out to the lobby.

A dozen residents were milling around in the lobby, and Maude was at the reception desk berating the young woman behind the counter. Angie smiled as she heard Maude’s penetrating voice above the murmur of the crowd. “Well, where is she? There’s no breakfast or coffee!”

“Let’s see what’s going on. Maude is sure to know,” Angie said. She and Barb walked over to the reception desk.

“Good morning, Mrs. Strother,” Angie said. “Is everything all right?”

Maude nodded at Angie and swiveled back to face the receptionist. “If Christine’s not here, you tell me who’s in charge! We’re hungry, there’s no one working in the kitchen, and someone has to do something!” She scowled at the receptionist. “Do I have to call 9-1-1 to get some service around here?” There was scattered applause from the crowd in the lobby, and a few people began beating their canes and walkers on the floor.

The receptionist ducked down behind the counter as the residents began moving in her direction and lining up with Maude.

“Mrs. Strother,” Angie said, placing one hand on the woman’s shoulder. “There’s a board of directors meeting going on right now. Let me go find them, and they’ll straighten things out.”

Maude gave Angie a sharp look. “You go do that, girlie. I’ll try to keep this mob from setting the place on fire.” She raised her voice. “Folks! Turns out the board of directors is here. This girl’s going to go find them. While we wait, let’s sing a few songs.” She held up one hand. “First off . . . ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic’!” She started singing off-key at the top of her lungs, with others joining in and clapping in rhythm.

Angie grabbed Barb’s arm and pulled her toward the small conference room where the board was in closed session. “There’s something going on here, for sure. No breakfast and no Christine. Do you think Christine is in league with the cook and they’ve both taken off!?”

“I’ll have to check the personnel records to see if they overlap in employment dates,” Barb said as they reached the conference room. She knocked on the door, then opened it.

“We’re still in closed session, Barb,” Dylan Edwards said.

“Well, I think you need to know that the residents are staging a protest in the lobby,” Barb replied. The singing had moved on to “The Battle of New Orleans” and drifted into the conference room. “Apparently, the cook didn’t show up this morning, and there’s been no breakfast. One of the residents is threatening to call 9-1-1 if something’s not done soon.”

“Sounds like Maude Strother is at it again,” one of the board members volunteered. The others stood and surrounded Edwards.

Dylan shook his head and grimaced. He looked around. “Mary, call the Nugget and order twenty-two breakfast specials. Harry, you and Alice go to the kitchen and brew up some coffee. The rest of you set up the dining room for breakfast. I’ll go talk to our residents.” He glanced at Barb and Angie, then pulled a ring of keys from his belt. Extracting one key, he handed it to Barb. “You and Angie go to Christine’s office and see if she left any instructions or evidence on where she’s gone.” He hurriedly left the conference room, and the remainder of the board members trailed after him.

Barb and Angie went two doors down to the closed door of the administrator’s office. Barb knocked and, hearing no response, unlocked the door. Inside, file drawers were open, and papers were scattered on the floor and desk. The administrator’s private office door was partially open. Angie pushed it fully open and gaped.

“All the fish tanks are gone!” Barb said. “I bet that means Christine is gone for good. She is obsessed with those fish—she named each of them and swore they knew their names and would come when she called them.” She stood looking at the empty tables. “She had several rare species—very expensive too. After I was here one time and she mentioned she’d just acquired a peppermint angelfish, I got on the computer and checked. Its retail value is over $30,000. I wondered where she was getting the money to afford such an expensive hobby.”

“I guess we know now,” Angie said. “We should go through her desk and all the papers in the reception area. See if we can find anything that might be a clue to what she did and where she went.”

“I don’t know,” Barb said, her expression worried. “I’m thinking we should call the police. We don’t want to be in a position of interfering with a criminal investigation.”

Angie was eager to get the inside story of the embezzlement at the assisted living facility, but she reluctantly agreed. “I guess you’re right.” She walked around the office and peered at papers on the desk, then did the same in the reception area. “It doesn’t look like she left anything that would be incriminating. I expect that’s what she was doing—removing anything that could be used against her.”

Barb locked the door to the administrative offices as they left. The Nugget delivery van was parked in front of the building, and a young woman was carrying in a stack of white cardboard boxes. She headed toward the dining room, with Angie and Barb following. Inside, the Morning Sun residents were sitting at tables scattered around the room. Some board members were handing out silverware and napkins, while others were pouring coffee. Most of the residents had food containers in front of them. The delivery woman plunked down the last dozen boxes for two tables that hadn’t yet received their food. Maude was sitting at one of the previously unserved tables and nodded. “About time!” She opened the box and picked up a knife to spread butter on toast. “Huh! Only white toast? I wanted wheat. Oh, well. Better than nothing for breakfast.” She layered strawberry jelly over the butter and took a big bite.

“Maybe the food will keep her quiet for a while,” Dylan Edwards said under his breath. He had spotted Angie and Barb and had quietly joined them. “Did you find anything in Christine’s office?”

“She’s gone, Dylan. Overnight. She must have packed up her fish and tanks and run,” Barb said. “Looks like she also went through the files and probably took anything that she thought might provide evidence against her. I have my data but now nothing to back it up.” She glanced at Edwards. “Are you calling the police?”

Edwards groaned. “I guess we have to. They can investigate and see if she has any assets that might cover some of the loss. We do have commercial business insurance that covers theft and other criminal losses, but it’s expensive and only covers fifty percent of losses over $20,000.” He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know what we will do. I hope we don’t have to close down.”

Angie felt sorry for Edwards. He did double duty as board chairman and mayor, and she knew some voters would blame him for the situation at the Morning Sun. “Mr. Mayor, I’m going to have to write about this. Would it be possible for me to interview you soon? People who live at the facility and all their family and friends are going to be very upset when they learn what happened. Your explanation of the steps you took in hiring Christine might be helpful. And, your thoughts on what might be feasible to avoid closing down the Morning Sun would provide insight into what it will take to avoid that.”

“Sure, Angie. Give me a couple days. Maybe on Thursday?” Edwards said. “Right now, I just don’t know what we’re going to do.” He looked around the room. “This is a community. Some of our residents have known each other for fifty, sixty years, and longer. I don’t want it to close down. I don’t want our residents to have to move to Sundance or Gillette or Spearfish and lose their friends.” He sighed. “I just don’t know if we can figure this out.” He shook his head then took out his cellphone. “I guess I’d better call Chief Harper and Sheriff Johnson and get this thing started.”

CHAPTER 41

The dining hall at the Morning Sun was bright and festive the next day. A Christmas tree in one corner had been brought in by members of the Board of Directors. It was decorated with popcorn strings, Western-themed ornaments featuring horses, cattle, and cowboy boots, and a few interesting outhouses. Red and green tinsel ropes were strung on the ceiling. A rotation of Christmas carols filled the air—Matt had just heard “The Little Drummer Boy” for the third time. Sheriff Johnson had asked him to interview the residents and staff about anything they had seen or heard the night Christine disappeared and to probe on any other information they may have. After the fifth interview—of over twenty he’d been assigned—he looked up to see Jim Harrington taking a seat across from him. Harrington hooked his cane over the back of his chair. He appeared tired, dark bags under his eyes and disheveled hair.

“Sheriff Harrington,” Matt said. “I guess your suspicions about Ms. Kepler were on target. I should have followed up after we talked a few weeks ago.”

“I’m not a sheriff anymore, but I do still have instincts. I just had that gut feeling that something wasn’t right,” Harrington said soberly.

“I hope I develop it after a few more years,” Matt said. “What we’re looking for now is information on what you saw or heard last night. Then I’d like to pick your brain a little more about that gut feeling.”

Harrington shook his head. “I’m not going to be much help about the night before last. My apartment is at end of the residence hallway farthest from the lobby and the administrative offices. I couldn’t sleep —arthritis was flaring up—so I was watching old movies on the TV with my headphones on. I didn’t hear anything. Maude and some of the others, though, they’ve been talking about the noise of a truck and people coming and going.”

“Ms. Strother’s on my list to talk to. Anyone else you think might have information?”

“Well, Jasper Hyland, maybe. He’s not one of the ones gossiping this morning, so I don’t know for sure. But he likes to take walks around the building most nights. He says it helps him sleep to get in a brisk walk just before he goes to bed. Possible he might have seen something.”

Matt jotted down a note. “Okay, thanks. Now let’s talk about why you were suspicious of Kepler earlier. Did you observe something odd? Or did she say something to you that raised a red flag?”

Harrington frowned. “Not sure I observed anything specific. She’s only been here two years. But shortly after she arrived, she fired the cook we had for five years and brought in a friend of hers—Jimmy Ramirez. Big guy, lots of tattoos, and a couple looked like prison tats. When the quality of the food deteriorated, to say nothing of the quantity, I complained to Christine. She just brushed me off. She said Jimmy had worked for her at the nursing home she previously managed and he was doing a good job for less than she was paying the old cook. Said the food budget was inadequate, and she had to make cuts or else our monthly rental would have to rise.” He shrugged. “I thought about calling one of my contacts in law enforcement to check Ramirez out, but then I had a heart episode and went in the hospital.”

Matt made another note. “I’ll check out Ramirez. We were going to do that anyway, since he seems to have disappeared along with her. Anything else bother you about Mrs. Kepler?” He waited while Harrington stared off into space for a moment.

“Just that she was very close-mouthed about her background. A couple times I was talking to her and asked the kind of questions you ask people—small talk stuff. Like where was she from and where she’d worked before she got this job. She avoided answering, and, after I mentioned I’d been the sheriff over in Sublette, it seemed to me that she avoided me in general.” Harrington shook his head. “Nothing really specific, Chief. Just a feeling that something was off about her.”

Matt thanked him and told him to call if he thought of anything else. Maude was waiting impatiently in the doorway as Harrington hobbled out. Matt gestured for her to come in.

“Well, this is quite a pickle, isn’t it?” Maude wheeled up to the table. “No cook, no administrator, and from what I hear, they may have to double our monthly rental here to cover the losses from the board stupidly hiring someone without properly checking them out!” She glared at Matt. “You going to catch her? And that cook that couldn’t boil an egg or fricassee a chicken?”

“We’ll do our best, Ms. Strother. If you saw or heard anything last night that might give us information to pursue, it would help. We don’t know much about Ms. Kepler. It turns out the board hired her on the basis of her resume and a strong letter of recommendation from the nursing home she said she’d worked at before.” Matt looked at Maude. “The board didn’t do their due diligence before hiring her, it turns out. When one of my men called her prior employer, it turned out that she never worked there.” He shrugged. “That’s water under the bridge, I guess. Right now, we’re on the job and hope we’ll be able to track her down. Maybe get back some of the money she embezzled. So, what do you know or suspect that might help us do that?”

Maude shook her head. “I didn’t hear or see anything. I went to bed around eleven and didn’t wake up until six. Had my hearing aids out on the charger too. All I know is what I’ve heard. Some of the other residents heard some sort of commotion, people coming and going, and a truck engine backfiring. You’ll have to talk to them.” She leaned forward and squinted her eyes at Matt. “Now that we know who the real crooks were here, I hope you’re going to back off poor Bobby Lee! He’s afraid to even come back here. Called me this morning and asked what was going on with the police being here. He said you arrested his grandson, J.P., and that sweet little girl, Jeannie.” She stabbed one finger at Matt. “What’s wrong with you? Now you know that Christine was responsible for everything, why are you harassing innocent folks?”

“Ms. Strother, we don’t think Ms. Kepler had anything to do with the money you and other residents lost to the animal shelter scam. That’s unrelated to this other crime, and I can’t tell you anything about your case while we’re still investigating,” Matt said, leaning back in his chair to avoid the sharp finger Maude had aimed at his chest. “Do you know where Bobby Lee is? If you do, you should tell me or you could be guilty of obstructing justice.”

Maude made a raspberry noise in Matt’s direction and wheeled her chair around. “I don’t know where he is, and if I do hear from him I’ll tell him to get out of town!” She exited the dining hall with one hand raised and a middle finger extended.

Matt sighed and motioned another resident who had been lurking by the dining hall doors to come forward. Three residents later, Matt had heard a lot of complaints and opinions about Christine, the quality of the food, and the current police state that was restricting residents’ movements, but no new information that might help to track down the administrator or her partner in crime. He looked up from his note-taking to see Jasper Hyland lumbering toward him. The big man was dressed as he’d been when Matt had interviewed him about the money he’d lost to the animal shelter scam. The bib overalls, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and heavy work boots made him appear ready to go out and put in a good day’s work on a ranch. Only the heavy breathing noises he was making as he sat down marked him as a resident of an assisted living facility.

“Jim Harrington told me to get over here and tell you what I saw last night,” Jasper gasped out.

“Take a minute, Mr. Hyland. You need to catch your breath. I was planning to talk to you soon,” Matt said. “There was no need to rush.” Jasper sat back and surreptitiously felt for his pulse. Matt’s concern increased as he watched Hyland take a dozen slow deep breaths.

Hyland’s breathing finally quieted. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I get riled up and forget I’m not fifty anymore. I just heard from one of the other residents that the board is probably going to raise the monthly rentals on this place.” His face flushed. “I can’t afford it, what with the money I lost to that scam. And now this thing with Christine and the board needing to cover the losses.”

“If we can find Ms. Kepler, it’s possible we can recover some of the money she stole,” Matt said. “And Jim said you might have some information that will help us do that.”

Hyland again took several deep breaths before answering. “I did see something.” He leaned forward. “Christine and the cook were carrying fish tanks and boxes out of the emergency exit near her office and loading them into a U-Haul truck. I was having trouble sleeping and thought a stroll outside would help. I stayed behind the trees so they didn’t see me.”

“How long did you observe them?”

“I watched them for about fifteen minutes, I guess. Then it got too cold, and I went back to the residence section.”

“Did you hear anything they were saying?”

“No, not really. Just a couple swear words in Spanish from Ramirez when he almost dropped one of the fish tanks. They weren’t really talking, just seemed anxious to get the load-out done as fast as possible. It seemed suspicious to me, but I thought maybe Christine was just moving those fish she loves so much.”

“What about the truck? Can you describe that? I don’t suppose you saw a license plate,” Matt asked.

Hyland’s face lit up. “That I can do. It was one of those small trucks, probably ten feet? With a picture of one of those extraterrestrial aliens on the sides and New Mexico license plates.” He looked anxiously at Matt. “Does that help? I didn’t get the license plate number.”

“Yes! That definitely helps! We can contact U-Haul and maybe find out who rented it and where it was returned,” Matt told Hyland. “Now, can you describe what Ms. Kepler and Ramirez were wearing? Anything else you think might help us.”

After Hyland described the clothes they were wearing and couldn’t think of anything else that might be useful, Matt stood up and shook his hand. “You’ve been very helpful. Thank you. And I hope we can recover some of the funds that were stolen.” Matt considered telling him about Lucas McGill’s promise to repay the monies J.P. had taken, but he didn’t want to raise Hyland’s hopes. “I hope it all works out for you.”

After Hyland left, Matt called Sheriff Johnson and relayed the information about the U-Haul.

“Great work, Matt,” Johnson said. “I’ll get on the horn to U-Haul and see what they can tell us about where it was rented and returned. And who rented it, credit card used, and anything else that might point us in the right direction. I’ll also put out a county and statewide BOLO to law enforcement. How many more residents do you have to interview?”

“About seven, I think,” Matt said. “Probably take me the rest of the afternoon.”

“Okay, keep at it. We’ll meet at five in your office. Call me if you pick up any other information.” Matt hung up, went to the kitchen, poured a cup of coffee, and returned to the dining hall to continue interviewing.

CHAPTER 42

Maude was nearly asleep when she heard light taps on her window. She sat up in bed, heart pounding. The curtains were pulled over the window, but she could see a dark shadow moving through the thin curtains. The tapping continued—dot-dot-dot pause, then repeated. She slipped out of bed into her wheelchair and picked up her chenille robe to wrap around the frilly nylon baby doll nightgown she was wearing. Wheeling over to the window, Maude pulled the curtains apart.

Bobby Lee McGill was standing outside the window. His normally well-groomed hair was disheveled, and Maude could see straw and twigs littering his hair and the shoulders of his coat. He plastered his hands to the outside of the window and leaned forward, mouthing “help me.”

Maude unlatched the lock on the window and pulled it up. “Bobby Lee! What are you doing here?”

“You have to hide me! The cops want to send me to prison!” Bobby Lee stretched his arms up and pulled himself up onto the window ledge. He tossed his cane inside and then hitched himself further into the window and stretched his arms out. Maude backed up her wheelchair, set the brake, and grabbed his hands. After one strong pull, Bobby Lee landed on the floor. He lay there for a moment, breathing hard, then pulled himself up to his knees. Tears streaming down his face, he clutched Maude’s knees. “Thank you, sweet girl. I knew you were the one person with the gumption to help me.” He leaned forward, lips pursed and aiming for Maude’s face.

“Cut it out, you old fool,” Maude said, pushing him away. “Go sit over on the chair and tell me what’s going on.” She released the wheelchair brake and swiveled around him to close the window. Bobby Lee slowly rose to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane, and then limped over to the chair.

“You won’t believe it,” he whimpered. “I don’t believe it. Lucas turned in J.P. to the sheriff! He found him hiding in the barn at the ranch and brought him straight into the clutches of the law. And the sheriff has sent my picture to all the law in Wyoming, saying I’m wanted for questioning.”

“Questioning for what?” Maude gave him a stern look. “And don’t lie to me! You know I’ll find out the real story.”

“I think for conspiring with J.P. to steal money from you and others here at the Morning Sun,” Bobby Lee said, his voice almost a whisper. He looked at Maude. “You know I’d never do that to you, Maude. I didn’t know anything about it being a scam.” His voice rose. “I can’t go to prison! You know what happens to men as handsome as me in prison! I wouldn’t survive a day.” He brushed his thick silver-gray hair back from his forehead and leaned forward. “Just hide me for a few days. They’ll never expect that I’m here, and, when the heat’s off, I’ll take off—maybe go to Arizona, where it’s warm.”

Maude shook her head slowly. “Bobby Lee, how are you going to travel to Arizona? You know they’ll be looking for your car. Probably checking the airlines too.”

“I’ll buy a new car and drive,” Bobby Lee responded, his face eager. “I’ve got lots of money. I’ll pay cash!” He stuck his hand in his pants pocket and came out with a thick roll of money. “See! Nearly twenty thousand. That’s enough for a car and for me to spend the winter in some small town in Arizona.”

Maude’s eyebrows went up. “Where did you get all that money? You’ve always complained that Lucas won’t give you more than a hundred dollars a week in spending money.” She wheeled over to him and snatched the money roll from his hand. “I bet it’s your ill-gotten gains from helping J.P. steal from us. So it’s really my money. I lost thirty thousand dollars!” She thumbed through the money, then extracted half of it and tucked it into the pocket of her robe. “I’ll hide you for forty-eight hours, for half of your roll. Then you get out of here, and I won’t tell anyone where you’re going.” Maude handed the diminished money roll back to Bobby Lee, who was staring at her, mouth agape.

“I never thought you’d be so hard, Maude. You always seemed to like me,” he said. Maude didn’t respond. Instead, she moved to the closet, opened the door, and took down a pillow and blanket.

“When it comes to money, I’m the hardest person you’ll ever meet,” she said. “And when someone rips me off, I hold a grudge forever. You can sleep in the closet.” She tossed the blanket and pillow on the floor. “Make yourself comfortable, and don’t make any noise. I need my beauty sleep.”

“But, Maude,” Bobby Lee whined. “What if I need to use the toilet? I’m an old man and sometimes have to get up two or three times at night.”

“There’s a pail in the closet. Use that!” Maude watched Bobby Lee pick up the pillow and blanket and slowly limp into the closet. He turned and looked back at her. Maude met his eyes, smiled gently, and watched as he entered the closet.

An hour later, as light snores emerged from the closet, Maude slid out of bed into her wheelchair. She rolled over to the open closet door, closed it, and turned the key.

CHAPTER 43

Angie and the dogs were late arriving at the cabin that evening. Snow was falling, heavy and wet, and the wind was rising to near blizzard levels when she pulled into the driveway. Bernie whined as she opened the door of the truck and slid out. Angie reached out and rubbed his ears. “What’s wrong, boy? You don’t like the blizzard?” The dog jumped out and stood staring at the thick pines beside the cabin, his hackles rising. Angie opened the back passenger door, and Wrigley leaped out. The younger dog stopped, staring at her father, then started barking wildly and took off toward the trees. Bernie gave a sharp high-pitched yap, and Wrigley skidded to a halt a few feet from the tree line. “I don’t know what’s got you guys spooked,” Angie said, “but if it’s a mountain lion or some coyotes, we should get in the house where it’s safe!” She whistled for Wrigley, who reluctantly began to return to the cabin.

Angie fished her keys out of her purse and walked up the deck stairs to the front door. The motion-sensor light over the door didn’t come on as it normally did, and Angie had to find the key by feel, trying two in the lock before finding the right one. She opened the door wide to let the dogs in and turned to punch in the security code. As she did, a dark figure slid inside and pressed something against her side.  Angie went still. The intruder was wearing a balaclava that covered his head with only his eyes and mouth showing. “Shut the door and don’t try anything funny,” a hoarse voice instructed. Bernie growled and took a step toward Angie. The intruder pointed the weapon in his hand at Bernie. “Tell your dogs to stand down.”

“Bernie, down! Wrigley, down!” Angie put as much authority as she could muster into her voice. Both dogs dropped to their stomachs. Bernie looked at Angie and crawled forward a few feet before Angie added, “Stay!” Bernie stopped.

“Go lock the dogs up.” The intruder pushed Angie and waved the gun in the direction of the bedroom.

Angie bent and hooked her fingers around the dogs’ collars. “Come,” she said. Bernie stood, looking back at the threat behind him. As Angie began leading the dogs in the direction of the bedroom, Wrigley twisted free and turned, a deep rumble emerging from her throat, and charged toward the man with the gun.

The sudden attack took the man by surprise. A single shot rang out before Wrigley slammed into the man’s knees, toppling him. Wrigley dropped to the floor, whimpering. Angie stormed over and stomped on the man’s gun hand, dislodging the gun. She quickly picked it up and, hands shaking, pointed it at him. “Get up! Now! If you’ve hurt my dog, you’re dead meat!” The threat would have been more effective if Angie’s voice hadn’t been wavering, but the intruder slowly rose to his feet, hands in the air.

“Go sit on one of the kitchen chairs,” Angie instructed. The man moved to a chair and sat down. Angie followed him, gun aimed steadily in his direction. She opened a kitchen drawer and took out a roll of duct tape. “Tie your legs to the legs of the chair with this,” Angie said, tossing it to the man. “Tight!”

The man did what she said, rolling the duct tape several times around each leg and the leg of the chair. He looked up at her. Angie frowned. The bright blue eyes looked familiar, but she couldn’t place them. “Now, bind one hand to the armrest.”

Once he was three-quarters fastened to the chair, Angie cautiously approached the man, gun still pointed at his torso. “Okay, toss me the duct tape and put your other hand on the armrest.” The duct tape dropped to the floor a foot from the shackled man. Angie inched closer and reached out one foot to roll the tape farther away. She bent to pick it up, keeping an eye out for any sudden movements. As she picked it up, the man made a convulsive movement, and he and the chair and crashed to the floor, nearly knocking Angie over. He grabbed her ankle, and she tumbled down, her finger on the gun trigger tightening. The gun went off, nearly deafening her.

The man howled in pain and clutched his leg with his still-free hand. “You bitch! You shot me!” he screamed. He gurgled some other incomprehensible sounds and glared at her.

Angie was trembling. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to . . . omigod!” Angie got off the floor, placed the gun on the kitchen counter, and inspected the man’s injury. Blood was spurting from the wound on his upper right leg. “I need to put a tourniquet on that or you’re going to bleed out.” Angie rushed into the bedroom and looked frantically for something that might work. She opened the closet door and grabbed a leather belt.

The man was moaning piteously when she returned to the kitchen. Angie grabbed a knife and slit the duct tape holding his foot to the chair to straighten his leg. The man screamed and then fainted as she wrapped the belt around his thigh and pulled it tight. The flow of blood slowed, but it continued seeping. “That’ll help,” Angie muttered, moving away from the man. She picked up her phone and dialed 9-1-1.

After she asked the operator to send an ambulance and the police, Angie put the call on speaker and went to Wrigley. The pup was whimpering and licking her foot. Bernie was standing next to his daughter, an anxious expression on his face. He nuzzled Wrigley’s face as Angie knelt and inspected Wrigley’s foot. Blood was coming from two toes, but it didn’t look too serious. “Must have just grazed her foot,” Angie murmured. She stroked Wrigley’s head and stood up as she heard the wail of sirens in the distance.

The intruder had regained consciousness and was moaning. Angie went to him and, staying a distance from his free hand, inspected the tourniquet. Blood was still slowly seeping. Angie moved so she could reach the top of the balaclava he was wearing and yanked it off. The man had a blond buzz cut and fine features. Angie shook her head. He looked like Christine Kepler, if Christine was a man. “Who are you? Christine Kepler’s brother?” Angie stared at him.

The bright blue eyes narrowed as the man took in her shock. “Well? You got me,” he said. “Police are on the way. I can hear them. I’ll tell you what you want to know, but I need you to do something first. Take care of my fish.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small plastic bag. A pink fish was floating inside. “This is my peppermint angelfish—the pride of my aquarium. I saved it, and you need to hold onto it till I can make other arrangements.” He looked at the fish, his face sad. “I’ll probably have to sell it for bail and legal fees.” He handed the bag to Angie. “Be sure to keep it at room temperature and open the top of the bag to let in oxygen now and then.” Angie gingerly accepted the bag. “My other fish are outside in the truck. It’s parked on the other side of your cabin, and it’s out of gas. The heater in the truck isn’t working, and my fish are going to die in this cold. I need you to go out there, dip the tank water into plastic bags, and bring the fish in here where they’ll stay warm. Start with the blue speckled puffer fish with yellow fins—there’s two of them. They are my favorites; they come when I call them. Then bring in as many others as you can.”

“First tell me what’s going on. Who are you?” Angie said. “And I’m not going anywhere till the police get here!”

The man’s eyes blazed. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you understand? My fish are going to die! I’ve spent years collecting them, and they love me and count on me! Help them!” He began struggling against duct tape, causing the blood to flow more rapidly from his wound.

The 9-1-1 operator interrupted his diatribe. “Ms. Kramer! The ambulance is in your driveway, but it’s stuck in the snow. The paramedics are unloading their equipment and will carry it up to your door. Can you see them?”

Angie stepped into the living room. She could see the headlights of the ambulance in the ditch on one side of her driveway and the shadows of two figures at the open doors at the back of the vehicle. Pulling up behind the ambulance was an SUV with blue and red lights flashing. Its siren went silent as she saw two figures emerge from the police vehicle. “I see them,” Angie said. “And the police are here too. Thank you.” She punched off the cellphone and turned to the man on the floor. “Tell me who you are, and I’ll go get the gas once the police are in the house.”

The man grimaced. “I’m Christine Kepler,” he said. “Envision me in a blond wig and with makeup. I stole my cousin’s identity two years ago. She’s a nurse, but decided to quit working to raise her kids several years ago. Everyone always said we looked like twins, and I figured working at an old folks place would give me an in to steal as much as I needed to fulfill my dream of owning the rarest fish in the world.”

Loud pounding on the door and a shout of “Police! Coming in!” interrupted whatever else the man was about to say. Angie moved to the door and flung it open. Matt and Bob stormed in, guns drawn. Behind them, two paramedics pushed in a gurney loaded with bags of equipment. The paramedics ran to the man on the floor and began cutting him loose from the chair. Bob stood behind them, his gun steady and aimed at the intruder.

Matt pulled Angie away from the kitchen and took the gun she was holding. “Tell me what’s going on. The 9-1-1 operator said you shot an intruder?”

Angie nodded. “It was an accident. I got his gun away from him when Wrigley attacked him. I had him duct taped to the chair, but he knocked himself over and pulled me down. The gun went off and . . . I think the bullet hit the femoral artery.” Her face was white, and she began crying. “I didn’t mean to shoot him, even though he shot Wrigley.” Wrigley had moved from the entranceway to cower behind one of the chairs in the living room. Bernie was standing over her, guarding against any new threats.

Matt frowned and went over to examine the dog. “Doesn’t look too bad, though she may lose one or two toes.” He stood up. “You go sit down, and we’ll talk more once the paramedics load this guy out.”

Behind them, the intruder began yelling about his fish. Angie turned to Matt. “He has some valuable fish in a truck outside. We need to put gas in the gas tank or they’re going to die. I have a five-gallon can in the lean-to. Help me get it, and I’ll tell you the rest once we get the fish settled.”

Matt told Bob to handcuff the man to the gurney and follow the ambulance into Sundance. “Stay with him till I relieve you. He’s under arrest.”

Outside, the wind was howling. Angie led Matt around the corner to where a U-Haul truck with New Mexico plates was parked next to her lean-to. Snow had nearly covered its tracks and buried it to the top of the tires. She struggled to pull the lean-to door open, and Matt pushed her aside and yanked hard. Inside were tools, a small generator, and a red can full of gas. Matt picked up the gasoline and broke a path to the U-Haul. He quickly unscrewed the gas cap, inserted the nozzle of the can, and poured in the gasoline. “Start it up, Angie.”

Angie climbed in the truck and turned the key. The engine roared, and cold air began pouring from the vents. Matt climbed in the passenger side. “It’ll start heating up in a minute,” he said. “But I’m not optimistic about the fish surviving out here. Now tell me about this guy.”

“He’s Christine Kepler,” Angie said. “He said he stole his cousin’s identity and got jobs at old folks’ places to steal the money he needed for his fish. I didn’t find out what his actual name is, but he said to envision him in a blond wig and lots of makeup. I did, and he’s her.”

“He did it for the fish, huh.” Matt laughed. “That’s a new one on me. Did he say anything about where his partner in crime, Ramirez, went?”

“Nope. His only concern was saving the fish,” Angie replied. “And I don’t have any idea why he ended up at my place, other than he must have realized he was running out of gas and saw my cabin. He probably thought there might be a way to save the fish here.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes before Matt chuckled. “You know that Sheriff Mike is going to say there’s something about you that attracts mayhem? I know it’s not anything you did—as far as I know—that attracted this. But that’s what he’s going to say.”

“I’ve only met Christine a couple times,” Angie protested. “And I’m sure she . . . he . . . didn’t have any idea this was my place when he decided to hide out here!” She giggled. “But I expect you’re right. Mike will believe that it’s somehow my fault. And I’ll tell him he should be thanking me since, as usual, I’m the key to breaking the case!” She opened the door to the U-Haul truck. “I have to get back to Wrigley.” Snow drifted in from the open door. “You’re going to have to stay with me tonight. The roads won’t be clear till the morning plows come through.”

“Guess we should check on the fish first. The five gallons won’t last all night, so we better save the ones we can. Did you bring some bags?”

Angie fished in her coat pocket. “I did. He said to save the blue-speckled puffer fish especially. Apparently he has a close personal relationship with them.”

They waded through the snow to the back of the U-Haul and filled the bags with salt water from the tanks. They then began chasing fish around the four aquariums with nets and dumping them into the plastic bags.

CHAPTER 44

Maude was exasperated with Bobby Lee’s constant whining and complaining: The food was cold. He couldn’t stretch out in the closet. It was too hot in the room. He didn’t like her choices of television shows. It was the third day since he’d knocked on her window, and she was near ready to bash him over the head with the brass monkey she kept on her desk.

“I’m going to lunch, Bobby Lee. Don’t move from the chair and keep the TV on low. I’ll bring you something to eat and drink when I come back,” Maude said.

“Not another peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” Bobby Lee snarled. “That strawberry jelly gave me hives. And I want to take a shower.”

“I’ll put grape jelly on it,” Maude said. “And no shower till I get back. I don’t want people to hear the shower running when I’m not in the room.” She opened the door and rolled out, then turned and locked the door of her apartment.

“Hey, Maude. Are you okay?” Jim Harrington was limping toward her. “Haven’t seen you at any of the activities the last couple days.”

Maude shrugged. “Just haven’t been in the mood for socializing, Jim. Too much on my mind. How’ve you been?”

Jim walked beside her wheelchair. “I’ve been keeping up on the criminal activity around here. Talked to that young police chief yesterday, and he said that Christine Kepler was actually Christopher Madden, a man! Do you believe that? And they’ve recovered about $50,000 so far. Still a far cry from what she – he – got from stealing from this place. But maybe the rents won’t go up as much as the gossipers were saying.”

“Hah! She’s a man? I always thought she was sort of mannish. Did you ever notice how she walked? Sort of swinging her shoulders back and forth—not her hips like most women do.” Maude wriggled her hips in the wheelchair and laughed. “What’s going on with the J.P. and Jeannie situation? Did he say?”

“Not really. He said they’re still looking for Bobby Lee but haven’t any leads. Lucas McGill, Bobby Lee’s nephew, hasn’t been much help other than telling them the location of relatives around the country that Bobby Lee might head for. Apparently, none of his credit cards have been used, and his telephone went dead three days ago. Last ping on a cell tower was between Marietta and Sundance, but they figure he’s probably left the state by now.”

“Hmm, well, I hope he gets away,” Maude said. “He’s always been nice to me.”

Jim laughed. “Nice to all the ladies, with that courtly air and all the hand kissing. But not so nice that Adrianne Barbeau or Amelia Kasparek were willing to hide him here.”

“What do you mean?” Maude’s voice was sharp.

“Adrienne told her lunch group that three nights ago—about the last time his cellphone pinged—he knocked on her window in the middle of the night and begged her to hide him from the police. She said she gave him a middle finger and closed the curtains. When Amelia heard that, she admitted that he’d tried the same thing with her. She said she shook her head and went back to bed. When I heard about it, I called the police chief and told him. He came back here and interviewed everyone again. Turned out, he’d knocked on the windows of four residents before he gave up and went away,” Jim said. He looked at Maude. “Didn’t the chief talk to you?”

“No. I’ve been staying in my room a lot,” Maude said. “Guess I’ll give him a call. That’s Matt Harper, right?” The expression on her face was neutral, but inside Maude was boiling. That son of a bitch. I was at least the fifth person he tried to con into hiding him. And I fell for it! Stupid, stupid, stupid. She smiled inwardly. Well, I can think of a few ways to make him pay. She and Jim entered the dining room and went to the serving line.

“Where have you been? I’m starving,” Bobby Lee whined when Maude finally returned to her room. He was sitting in a chair surrounded by three Gatorade bottles and wrappers from candy bars that he’d taken from Maude’s mini-fridge. His hair was oily and stood in tufts around his ears, and a strong smell from the clothes he’d worn for days assaulted Maude’s olfactory senses.

“Just went to the fitness session, Bobby Lee. I can’t spend every minute here entertaining you.” She handed him a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich and pulled a container of milk from her pocket. “Here’s your lunch. Eat it and then take a shower. Leave your clothes out here, will you? I’ll give them a good spraying of Febreze. Won’t help the underwear, but I’ll give you a pair of mine to wear.”

Bobby Lee wolfed the sandwich down and gulped the milk, dribbling some down his stubbly chin. “There. I’m going to go take that shower. I’ll toss my clothes out once I’m in there. Thanks, sweet girl. I’m eternally grateful to you.” He reached out and took her hand, raising it to his lips. “You’re the best.”

Maude wrinkled her nose as he kissed the back of her hand. “You’re the best, too, Bobby Lee. Now go take your shower. I have some razors in the medicine cabinet. You can shave.” Once Bobby Lee was in the bathroom, she picked up his clothes, went to the open window, and tossed them outside. She wheeled to her dresser and opened the top drawer. Inside were panties, bras, and slips. Maude rifled through the plain white cotton panties until she came to her “special” underwear. She pulled out a pair that were light pink silk with layers of dark pink lace decorating the waist. “These will do,” she said with a smirk.

She listened to Bobby Lee singing in the shower. Certain he wouldn’t be out for a while, she picked up her phone, dialed the Marietta police department, and asked for Chief Harper. When he answered, she said, “This is Maude Strother, Chief. If you want to find Bobby Lee McGill, be at the Morning Sun in about fifteen minutes.” She punched the call off, went to the window, and closed and locked it. Then she slid the small knitting needle she kept in the hem of the curtain into the crack between the lower case and upper case window. She sat back with a satisfied smile.

“Bobby Lee, I’m going out to pick up my mail at the front desk,” Maude called. “I’m opening the door to put a pair of underwear on the sink for you. Cover up.” She opened the door a crack and tossed the frilly panties on the sink. “Be back in a minute.”

Maude scooted out the door and locked it. She turned right in the hallway and knocked on Jim Harrington’s door.

“Maude?” Jim clicked off the television and opened the door. “What’s up?”

“Quick, close the door!” Maude wheeled into the room. “I have Bobby Lee in my apartment. He’s in the shower right now. I’m going to pull the fire alarm and scare him out in the hallway. I want you to stand guard. Don’t let him get out the back exit door!”

“Wait a minute!” Jim sputtered. “Why is he in your apartment? In your shower? And you should call the police and let them take him in.”

“I already called the police. They’ll be here any minute. Now you go get in position, and don’t let him escape!” Maude opened the door and rolled out. The fire alarm was halfway down the hall. She speed-wheeled to it and pulled the handle. The blare was deafening as she zoomed back to her apartment and unlocked the door. “Bobby Lee! There’s a fire in the building. We have to get out of here!”

The shower turned off, and she could hear scuffling in the bathroom. A minute later, Bobby Lee threw the door open. His hair and body were dripping wet, and the frilly pink panties did a poor job of covering his private parts. He clutched his genitals with one hand to cover them. The other hand was clutching his cane.

“Where’s my clothes?” He looked frantically around the room.

“I took them to the laundry room,” Maude said. “And we don’t have time for you to put on something of mine. I could see the smoke thick and coming down the hall. Let’s go!” She was inwardly giggling at the sight of Bobby Lee, near naked with all of his wrinkles and sagging belly skin showing. Not so handsome and charming now, are you? She threw the door wide open and grabbed his arm to pull him into the hallway. She could see Jim standing guard at the exit door and dozens of people milling around in the hallway.

As Bobby Lee reached the hallway, his eyes widened. Everyone turned to stare at him, mouths agape. “I can’t go out there,” he hissed. “Let me go. I’ll go out through the window.”

“Oh, it’s stuck, the ice must’ve froze it. I pulled and pulled, but it won’t open. You’ll have to run for it,” Maude said, putting her hand on his arm.

Bobby Lee yanked away and, a determined look on his face, began hobbling as fast as he could toward the lobby. He heard shouts as he pushed his way past the residents in the hallway.

“It’s Bobby Lee McGill!” “Omigod! What’s he wearing?” Then some chuckles and a rising surge of laughter as he finally made it out of the hallway and into the lobby . . . where Chief Matt Harper and Officer Bob were waiting for him.

“Bobby Lee McGill, you’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit fraud,” Matt said. Officer Bob moved behind Bobby Lee and tried to pull his hands behind his back to affix handcuffs. Bobby Lee dropped his cane, but kept his other hand tightly covering his groin. He swayed back and forth, and Matt steadied him.

“Handcuff him in front, Bob. He needs his cane.” Matt looked at Bobby Lee and grinned. “And we definitely don’t want him to move his other hand and show all of his limitations!” Bob moved around to face his prisoner and snapped on the cuffs.

“Put him in the back of the cruiser and read him his rights,” Matt said. The fire alarm abruptly stopped. Matt looked down the residence hallway to see Maude wheeling her way through the crowd that was standing, confused, in groups.

“Nothing to worry about, folks,” Maude announced. “It was a false alarm. Hope you all enjoyed the show!” People began dispersing, and she rolled up to Matt.

“You got here in good time, boy. I wish I could have been in the lobby to see the expression on that SOB’s face when he spotted you standing there.” Maude’s face was flushed with excitement.

Matt looked at Maude thoughtfully. “I’ll need you to come down to the station and give a statement. From Bobby Lee’s appearance, it looks like maybe you’ve been harboring a fugitive. Lacy panties and sopping wet?” Matt started laughing. “Maude, you are something else. I can’t wait to hear what story you spin about this.”

Maude gave him an angelic smile. “Whatever do you mean, Chief Harper? You should be thanking me for helping you capture a dangerous criminal.” She looked around the lobby. “Darn, you didn’t notify that reporter girl. I was hoping there’d be a picture of the takedown in the paper next week.”

Matt shook his head in disbelief. “How about you call Ed and ask him to bring you to the police station at ten tomorrow morning to give your statement.” After Maude assured him she’d do that, Matt turned to head out to the cruiser.

“Hey,” Maude called out as Matt opened the door. “You be sure to tell the newspapers that I caught him.”

Matt gave her a sideways look and went out, shaking his head.

Jim was leaning against Maude’s apartment door when she returned. “I want to talk to you,” he said, his voice stern.

Maude opened the door and went in, waving him to follow her. He sat down in a chair and looked at her. “How long was Bobby Lee in your apartment?”

Maude wouldn’t meet his eyes and didn’t answer.

“Maude, how long was he here?” Jim’s tone was sharp.

“Stop interrogating me,” Maude said. “You’re not a policeman, and I’m not a suspect!”

Jim sat back in his chair. “Okay, let’s try it this way. Did Bobby Lee knock on your window three nights ago and ask you to hide him?” His voice was gentle.

“Yes,” Maude whispered.

“It didn’t occur to you to call the police? Or tell someone? Maybe me?”

Maude’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Jim, I’m just a silly old woman. He said I was the only person he thought would help him. I know now that I was the fifth woman he tried that line on.—and I was the only one stupid enough to fall for it. He was always so courtly and sweet to me, he made me feel special.” She stifled a sob.

Jim rose and came over to her. “Aww, Maude, you are special. I don’t know anyone who’s as feisty and smart and funny as you are.” He chuckled. “Or who would have come up with a plan to get revenge on him like that. The sight of him in lacy pink panties, dripping wet, and trying to cover his groin with his hand while he hobbled down the hallway will stay with me forever!”

Maude brushed the tears away and looked at Jim, her eyes lighting up. “Scrawny as a plucked chicken, wasn’t he? And about as appetizing. I hope all the girls got a good look.” She began giggling. “They’ll never look at him the same again!”

Jim patted her arm. “Serves him right. You’ll be okay. All the residents will think you just let him in last night and plotted to turn him in today. And I’m sure they all enjoyed the show—it’ll be the talk of the dining hall for days.”

“Thanks, Jim. You’re a good friend.” Maude paused and thought for a minute. “Would you go with me to the police station tomorrow? They want me to give a statement.”

Jim squeezed her hand. “I’d be honored to.”

CHAPTER 45

“Bobby Lee is singing like a canary,” Sheriff Mike told Matt at the sheriff’s office in Sundance a week later. “Lucas got him a lawyer from Cheyenne who negotiated a deal where if he pleads guilty and names names, he’ll get probation. Bobby Lee’s sitting in the interview room right now writing down every illegal act he’s committed or is aware of for the last sixty years. Let’s go in my office, and I’ll fill you in.”

The two men took seats in the sheriff’s cluttered office. “I thought Bobby Lee was out on bail,” Matt said, taking off his hat.

“He is. He came in this morning and asked if he could work on his confession. Said the environment here helps him remember things he did,” Sheriff Mike answered. “Lucas posted bail for both Bobby Lee and J.P. The old man’s not restricted, but J.P.’s wearing an ankle monitor and can’t leave the ranch except for trips to court. Running off to Las Vegas when he knew we wanted to talk to him makes him a flight risk.”

Matt nodded. “Makes sense. I saw Jeannie Goshen walking down the street in Marietta yesterday too. Out on bail?”

“No, out on her own recognizance. She’s a cooperating witness. No charges, assuming she testifies against J.P. Lucas wants him to plead guilty to the animal shelter scam and Social Security fraud, but J.P. says he’s innocent and plans to plead not guilty.” The sheriff shrugged. “Dumb move, but I guess he’d rather risk a jury trial than admit guilt and know he’s going to prison.”

“What about the telemarketer who helped with the Social Security fraud? Any news on her?”

“Nope. Looks like she’s in the wind.” Johnson opened a drawer in his desk. “Here’s a copy of the grand jury indictments for J.P. and for Christopher Madden, aka Christine Kepler. Kepler’s lawyer got him a psychiatric exam—argues that the man is obsessive-compulsive and that’s what compelled him to commit crimes to raise the money he needed for his fish obsession. So he’ll be having a six-week stay at the state mental hospital.”

Matt took the papers the sheriff handed him. “Thanks. I’ve known people with a fish obsession, but that usually involved a rod and a reel and a strong desire to spend time anyplace except home.” He folded and tucked the papers in his inside jacket pocket. “Is Lucas still planning to reimburse the people who lost money to the animal shelter scam?”

“He is. He’s setting up a fund and asked me and Dylan Edwards to administer it. We’ll be verifying the losses and approving disbursements to cover what the banks’ liability insurance doesn’t pay out. That doesn’t get J.P. off the hook for the crime, but it will sure make the victims happy.”

“True that,” Matt said. “It’ll make Ed happy, too. His aunt Maude has been a terror over the money she lost.”

Sheriff Mike laughed. “She’s a terror in general. She came to the interview about her capture of Bobby Lee with both barrels loaded. About how she had to let him into her apartment because the law in this county wasn’t capable of finding an eighty-six-year-old man on the loose. Told me it took a ninety-two-year-old woman to do what we couldn’t. Had Jim Harrington with her too. I think those two are in cahoots somehow, and I’m not sure we got the full story.”

“We know he tried to get someone to let him in three days earlier. So maybe she was hiding him from then, and something happened and she decided to out him – dramatically.” Matt smiled. “I really wish I’d thought to take a picture of Bobby Lee hobbling as fast as he could into the lobby, dripping with water and wearing only a pair of see-through pink lacy panties.” Both men broke into guffaws. When they sobered up, Matt asked, “Anything else for me? I need to get back on patrol.”

“Nope, that’s it for now. You’re doing a good job as chief of police. I knew you would,” Mike said. He stood. “I’ll walk you out.”

In the lobby, Angie Kramer was talking with the receptionist. She looked up as the sheriff and Matt emerged from the hallway. “Just the people I wanted to see. It’s Tuesday, and I’m getting started on next week’s paper. Can you sit down with me and give me background for my story about the Crook County Sheriff’s Department and the Marietta Police Department’s efforts combating the county’s crime wave?” She grinned at the sheriff. “And I want to remind you that I wasn’t responsible for any of it! Other than accidentally being in the wrong place at the wrong time when Chris Kepler’s truck ran out of gas.”

Sheriff Mike sighed. “Sure, I’m available this afternoon.” He looked at Matt. “What’s your schedule?”

“On patrol till four, but I could swing by your office after that.”

“How about four thirty here, Angie?”

“Works for me,” Angie said. “I’ll see you then.”

###

There was light snow floating in the air when Angie pulled into a parking place near the sheriff’s office in Sundance. She sat for a moment in the truck, trying to shake off a slight headache, then went in. Becca, the receptionist, greeted her. “They’re in the sheriff’s office. Said to send you in.”

“Thanks, Becca,” Angie replied. “I’m going to stop off at the restroom first.” She walked through the door dividing the reception area from the offices and cells and went into the restroom. Her reflection in the mirror over the sink stopped her. She looked very pale, with dark circles under her eyes, and her dark hair and its trademark white streak were in disarray. Angie set her purse on the sink and dug out a hairbrush. After smoothing and fluffing her hair into a semblance of order, she turned on the faucet and splashed water on her face. A little better, she thought, regarding her image. I shouldn’t have stayed up watching that movie last night. Or skipped breakfast. She slapped her cheeks twice to put some color in her face, then exited the bathroom.

Mike and Matt were laughing when she walked into Mike’s office. “What’s so funny?” Angie asked, taking a seat.

“I was just describing how Bobby Lee was greeted by the other jail inmates when we booked him into a cell. He was still in his panties and dripping wet. Lots of whistles and catcalls,” Matt said. “I’m not sure he’ll ever want to show his face in public again.”

Angie grinned. “I have pictures of him running down the residence hall at the Morning Sun. A couple of the residents had their cellphones on them and caught him front and back. Both of them called me and asked if I wanted pictures for the paper. Not sure which picture it’ll be, but at least one will be on the front page this week. So fill me in. I need details on the current status of the cases for the paper. It’s the most excitement we’ve had in a few months, and interested readers want to know!”

Sheriff Mike harrumphed. “You know we can’t give you on-the-record information about an ongoing case. But I’ll tell you what I can. Anyway, I saw last week’s story about the capture of Christine . . . Christopher . . . whatever we should call them. As usual, you managed to insert yourself into things.”

Angie protested, “Hey, I’ve had absolutely no involvement with any of the crimes this time. It was purely coincidental that Chris ended up at my house. And shot my dog! Wrigley lost a toe because of that man . . . woman.” She looked at the sheriff. “Which is he claiming to be, by the way?”

“Says he isn’t sure, that he always felt like a woman inside and impersonating his cousin  made him feel like he was ‘right’ for the first time in his life. We don’t know whether he’ll end up in the men’s or the women’s prison. But, I expect it’ll be one of them. With Barb Wilson’s help, we’ve been doing a forensic audit of the Morning Sun’s books, and it looks like there was even more stolen than she originally estimated.”

Angie made some notes. “What about her accomplice, Ramirez? Any leads on him?”

“Nope. Not a sign. Chris did tell us he was from Guatemala, and her guess is he’s headed back there.”

“Any idea what’s going to happen to the Morning Sun? Are they going to have to close down?”

“No, idea,” Mike said. “That’s outside our area.”

“I know there’s a fundraiser going on,” Angie said. “The mayor has been posting signs all over town, and the paper is giving free advertising for the drive. It’ll be sad if it does have to close. All those people having to move to Spearfish or Gillette.” Angie stopped and rubbed her forehead. “Is it hot in here? I need to go get some water.” She stood up. “Be right back.”

She returned clutching a glass of water in both hands and sat down again. “Now, what about all the rest?”

“I’m heading those investigations,” Matt said. “J.P. is pleading not guilty, so there will be a trial.  I can’t say more than that, prosecutor’s orders. Don’t want to bias the jury pool.”

Angie wiped her forehead with a tissue. Her face was flushed. She took a sip of water then said, “I understand, from Lucas, that he’s going to fully cover the losses of everyone who donated money to the fake animal shelter. He’s set up a fund for that. And Mike and Dylan will be the directors. Is that correct?”

The sheriff nodded. “That’s right. Dylan and I have been meeting with Lucas to work out the details, but it looks like everyone affected will be made whole. The amount Lucas is putting in the fund will more than cover the losses . . . by quite a bit.” He raised one eyebrow. “Here’s a nugget I bet you don’t have, and it’s on the record. Lucas said any leftover funds will be used to construct and support the real animal shelter for the county.”

Angie dropped her pen and clapped her hands. “That’s wonderful! And a scoop for the Times too.” She smiled, then slumped back into her chair. “I don’t feel good.” Her head lolled and she fell off the chair, hitting her head on the corner of the desk.

Matt leaped up and moved to Angie, cradling her head in his lap. “Call 9-1-1. Her head’s bleeding.”

CHAPTER 46

A bright light was shining overhead when Angie opened her eyes. She blinked and closed them again. “Where am I?” She raised one hand and touched a bed rail.

“You’re in the hospital, Angie,” a voice said. “In the emergency room.”

Angie slowly opened her eyes. A woman with a nametag that said Jana Flores, R.N. stood beside the bed. Angie had an IV in one arm and a blood pressure cuff around the other, and there were beeps coming from equipment. “What happened?”

“What do you remember?” Nurse Flores asked.

Angie rubbed her temples. “I was in Sundance in the sheriff’s office. I asked a question. Then everything went black.”

“That’s about right,” the nurse said. “You fainted and hit your head when you passed out. The doctor will be in soon. He can answer whatever other questions you have.” She bustled out of the room, leaving Angie to try to piece together the afternoon.

Dr. Stevens strolled in a few minutes later. Angie nearly didn’t recognize him. His hair, normally in a long gray ponytail, was short and well-groomed. And he wore a blue shirt and tie under his white coat. She pushed herself up to a sitting position.

“We need to stop meeting like this,” Stevens said, smiling. “But at least you’re not here because you were kidnapped this time.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and raised a penlight. “Let me check you out.” He turned the light on and studied her eyes. “Follow my finger with your eyes.” Angie did as he asked, and he nodded. “Looks okay. You may have a mild concussion, but I don’t think it’s serious. I want to do a CT scan, just to make sure. Do you have a headache?”

Angie nodded. “But I had one before I fell, I think. And I remember feeling shaky and weak. I didn’t have breakfast or lunch today. That’s probably why I fainted.”

“Well, that combined with your pregnancy,” Stevens said.

Angie stared at him. “My what?” she squeaked out.

Dr. Stevens studied her for a moment. “You didn’t know you were pregnant?” Angie shook her head. “Well, you are. Congratulations . . . I guess.”

“Are you sure? I mean, how can you tell?”

“We did blood tests when you came in. I guess you don’t remember that. Anyway, your HCG levels are elevated. Sufficiently high to indicate you’re probably between three and four months along.”

Angie counted back mentally. Nick left about two and a half months ago. The last time they’d been together intimately was probably about three months ago. She groaned and looked up at the doctor.

“You really didn’t know?”

“I didn’t have any idea,” Angie said. “I’ve never been regular, so a couple months without a period didn’t worry me.” She thought for a minute. “I did have an upset stomach for a couple weeks and threw up a few times.” She glanced at the doctor. “I guess that should have been a hint, huh?”

“Maybe so,” he said. “The important thing is now you know. An orderly will be in to take you to radiology in a few minutes. Once I check the films, you can probably go home. I’ll be back to let you know.”

Angie’s mind whirled. Pregnant? A baby? Omigod! What am I going to do? She envisioned herself cuddling a little baby girl with a headful of dark curly hair and long black eyelashes. I hope she looks like Nick. Nick! What am I going to do! The orderly arrived to take her for the CT scan as she realized she needed to call Nick. By the time she was settled back in her hospital room, she still hadn’t resolved whether to do so immediately or wait till everything had sunk in.

Kate rushed in and pulled a chair up next to the bed. “Angie! What happened? Are you okay?”

“Probably,” Angie responded. She pushed the button to elevate the top of the bed. “The doctor thinks I fainted because I forgot to eat today. But he sent me for a CT scan just to be sure before they let me go.”

A nurse bustled in with a tray. “Here you go. Dinner. Dr. Stevens said you should eat and see how you feel. He’ll be in to see you in a while.”

Angie took the covers off the tray. Turkey, mashed potatoes, and peas and carrots. A chocolate pudding cup for dessert. She realized she was starving and looked at Kate. “I’m really hungry.” She took a bite of the mashed potatoes. “Not bad for hospital food.”

“Well, Ed and I think you should come home with us tonight,” Kate said, eyeing the bandage on Angie’s head. “Just as a precaution. Matt picked Bernie and Wrigley up at the office and took them to his house, so you don’t have to worry about them.”

Angie swallowed a mouthful of peas and carrots. “I think I’m fine, Kate. I just have to remember to eat regularly.” She smiled as she said that and scooped another mouthful of mashed potato and turkey into her mouth.

When Angie licked the last of the chocolate pudding from her spoon, Kate stood up and walked over to the bed. She took Angie’s hand. “Angie, Ed and I are here for you whatever you need. You know that, right?”

Angie made eye contact and then burst into tears. Kate squeezed her hand as Angie sobbed. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m pregnant,” Angie got out between sobs. “And I don’t know what to do.” She looked at Kate, despair on her face. “And I don’t want to move back to Chicago.” Her grip on Kate’s hand tightened. “I want to keep being the editor of the paper and be with you and Ed and Matt and Kassie, and Sam . . .” Angie wailed. “And what about Bernie? And Wrigley? They wouldn’t like Chicago!” She fell back onto the pillows. Kate reached out and smoothed Angie’s hair away from her face.

“You’ll figure it out, Angie. It’s a shock, I know. But we’ll all support whatever decision you make.”

Angie sniffled and reached for a tissue. “I know.”

Dr. Stevens walked into the room and stopped. “I can come back in a few minutes if this is a bad time.”

“No,” Angie said. “This is good. What’s the verdict?”

“The scan came back clean, so I can discharge you. The nurse will be in with papers in a few minutes. You should spend the night with someone around, just in case. Rest, eat regularly, and take care of yourself and you shouldn’t have any repercussions. Make an appointment in a week to follow up and get the stitches removed.” He smiled. “And good luck.”

“Thank you, Dr. Stevens. I hope not to see you again . . . here, anyway . . . for a long time.” Angie slid her feet over the edge of the bed as the doctor left. “My clothes are in that bag over there. Would you get it for me, Kate?”

Kate helped Angie into the chair and brought the bag of clothes to her. “Do you need help getting dressed?” she asked.

“I’m okay, Kate. I guess eating something was just what I needed.” She opened the bag and pulled out underpants and jeans. “I can do this myself.” She slipped on the underpants, then stood to pull up her pants and zip them. “See, I’m steady. Not faint at all.”

Kate nodded. “Okay, but you’re coming home with me. At least for tonight.”

Angie looked up at her and opened her mouth to say something.

“And no, I won’t say anything about the pregnancy. That’s your announcement to make, or not make, depending on your decision.”

A wave of gratitude swept through Angie. “Thank you, Kate.” She finished dressing and stood up. “Now, where’s that nurse? I’m ready to get out of here!”

CHAPTER 47

The Morning Sun was festively decorated four days before Christmas. Silver tinsel ropes outlined the front porch and the doorway, fake icicles dripped from the eaves, and bright red ribbons adorned the large green wreath on the door. Angie and Sam could hear Christmas carols playing inside as they walked to the entrance.

“I wonder if the McGills will be here,” Sam said as she held the door open for Angie.

“Probably. Lucas is paying for this shindig. He ordered a buffet lunch for forty people from the Nugget and hired the DJ to play music.”

The lobby held a large Christmas tree, decorated with ornaments and strings of tinsel, with a large gold star at its peak. The doors to the dining hall were open, and inside the room they could see several residents dancing to the strains of “Winter Wonderland.”

“There’s Lucas McGill, talking to Dylan. I think, from what Dylan told me yesterday, that there has been a high level of donations to cover the Morning Sun’s losses,” Angie said. She headed into the dining hall, Sam trailing behind with a camera. “Take lots of pictures, Sam. We should get some good ones for the front page. The entire board of directors is here.” Angie stopped, her mouth open. “Is that Bobby Lee dancing with Maude?”

Sam spotted them and started laughing. “Indeed it is! I guess Bobby Lee has forgiven her for the stunt she pulled when she turned him in.” The two women stood for a moment, absorbing the scene. Bobby Lee was holding Maude’s hands and swinging her and her wheelchair in slow circles around the room. As the music ended, he bowed and kissed her hand. Maude patted his behind as he strolled toward another woman and extended his hand.

“Angie Kramer!” Lucas McGill strode over to Angie. “I’m glad you could make it.” He turned to Sam. “And your star reporter too. Samantha, is it?” Sam nodded and lifted her camera. “I hope you get lots of pictures. I really felt, with all that’s happened these last months that having a party for the residents would help to raise spirits and start the holiday and the New Year off right.” He leaned over to whisper in Angie’s ear, “And I have an announcement to make that you’ll like a lot.”

“Good to see you, Lucas,” Angie said. “I was surprised to see Bobby Lee here, though. Is he still going to be living here?”

Lucas grinned. “Oh, yes. He’s made amends to the people J.P.’s scam hurt, with some help from my donation. And there was a meeting of all the residents to discuss what happened. They voted twenty-one to five to allow him to continue living here.” He lowered his voice. “The five who were opposed were all men. The ladies seem to enjoy having Bobby Lee around. Even Maude voted to let him stay.”

“I’m going to take some pictures, Angie,” Sam said. She began walking toward the buffet table where people were beginning to line up, plates in hand.

Angie nodded and turned back to Lucas. “Amazing. Maude’s not a forgiving person, from what I understand. Well, it’s a nice thing you’re doing—both the party and paying off what people lost to your cousin’s thefts.”

“Least I can do. I should have clamped down on J.P. when he was a boy.” He shook his head. “Bobby Lee and J.P.’s father filled his head with all those stories about the McGill family and its outlaw history. J.P. will almost certainly be in prison for a few years, and I just hope he uses the time to turn his life around.”

“I do too,” Angie said. “He’s still young enough to change.” She spotted Dylan Edwards walking toward them. “Oh, I need to talk to Dylan. I heard that the board has hired a new director. I want to get the details.”

“Go do what you do so well,” Lucas said. “Keep us all informed about the important news.”

Angie talked at some length with Dylan, then began circulating and chatting with several Morning Sun residents, getting quotes about their views on the party and the future of the facility. An hour and a half later, as the Nugget staff was cleaning up, Lucas walked to the front of the room. The crowd applauded as he held up his hands for quiet.

“Hello, everyone. I’m Lucas McGill, as most of you know. I hope you’re all enjoying the party.” There was another smattering of applause. “And I hope you all have a very happy Christmas and that the year to come is one that you’ll all remember fondly.” Bobby Lee appeared in the dining hall doorway, pushing a cart laden with festively wrapped gifts. He began distributing them to the party attendees. “These are just small tokens of our apology for whatever distress you experienced due to my cousin’s bad behavior and the worry about the survival of the Morning Sun financially. I know your board of directors has already announced that people in the community have donated enough to nearly cover the ‘fish lady’s’ embezzlement.” A few yells of approval broke out. “And I have one more announcement to make! The McGill family has purchased one-half acre of the Morning Sun’s six-acre lot from the board of directors.” The room went silent, and a few people frowned. “We’re donating it to the animal shelter foundation and providing the funds needed to build a shelter sufficiently large for twelve dogs and twenty cats to be safely housed right here, next to your home. Volunteers are already working to develop plans for staffing the shelter, and Dr. Wilcox has agreed to serve as the shelter’s medical director once it’s up and running.”

Eyes lit up in the room. Jasper Hyland stood up. “Will some of us be able to help? Maybe walk the dogs, do some training?”

“Absolutely,” Lucas said. “Anyone who wants to help will be welcome. If you have experience in training dogs in basic commands, that’ll be especially welcome. A trained dog will have a much better chance of being adopted.”

The room was buzzing with excitement. Lucas raised his hands again. “Thank you all for coming. Dessert trays are being laid out now.” He moved to a table on the side of the room and sat down.

“That’s a great thing you’re doing,” Angie said, taking a chair beside him. “It’s great for the animals and for the Morning Sun residents.” She smiled. “I expect the new administrator will have to keep an eye out for cats and dogs smuggled in by the residents.”

“I hope so. I hope it gives everyone who lives here some happiness. It’s hard getting older and having to give up your home and move into a place where you’re dependent on others.” He turned to Angie. “Bobby Lee wants to talk to you . . . privately, if you’re okay with that? In his apartment. It’s Apartment 3. I don’t know what it’s about, but he said he wants to tell you something important. So please don’t leave till you check with him.”

Angie shrugged. “Sure. We’re just about ready to leave, but I’ll go find him now.” She went over to talk to Sam, who was packing away her camera. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Just have one thing to do before I leave.”

A minute later, she knocked on the door of Apartment 3. She heard shuffling and a cane hitting the floor, then Bobby Lee opened the door.

“You’re here, good. Come in, sit down. I have a story to tell you.” Bobby Lee limped to an armchair and sat down.

Angie didn’t say anything, but she entered the room and closed the door behind her. She regarded him steadily.

Bobby Lee cleared his throat. “Okay, here’s the thing. I wasn’t completely honest with you when I said I didn’t know anything about that missing teacher. I was just a little feller when it happened, but my father told me the story when I was in my teens. He’d been drinking whiskey all evening—it was after my ma died, and he didn’t last much longer.” He looked at Angie. “The sheriff made me write down all the crimes I knew about or was involved in, as part of my plea deal so I could get probation. I left this one off the list. It was so long ago that I didn’t think it mattered, but I’ve been dreaming about it the last two nights.” His face crumpled. “I need to tell someone, and I know you’re the one who’s been helping that old woman in Minnesota.” He buried his face in his hands.

“I know Maribelle’s sister would like to know how she died,” Angie said, her voice soft.

Bobby Lee cleared his throat again. “Well, here’s what my pa told me. Earl Lee, my oldest brother, was really sweet on that teacher. Every afternoon, he went to the school to pick up my brother and sister and tried to make up to the teacher. Maribelle. That was her name, right? She was pleasant but standoffish. He brought her flowers one time, and she told him that was inappropriate. That Mr. Ferguson, the man of the house she was staying in, would get upset if he thought she was encouraging attention from a man. She handed them back to him and told Earl Lee that he should wait for the kids outside in the future.

“Earl Lee was angry and hurt. He was a good-looking young guy, tall, blond hair. Lots of girls in the county thought he was something. But he was fixed on the teacher. But he did as she said—stayed outside and picked up his brother and sister and took them home. But then, he’d jump on his horse and go back to the school to catch a glimpse of her while she cleaned and stoked the fire and graded papers. He’d follow her and the Ferguson boy, who picked her up at night, until they were nearly home.

“One evening when he was following them, he could see they were arguing. The Ferguson boy stopped the wagon and grabbed Maribelle by the shoulders and tried to kiss her. She pushed him away and jumped out of the wagon and ran away from him. Ferguson chased after her, with Earl Lee right behind, intent on saving her. But when he was close to catching up, he saw the Ferguson boy grab her by the neck and throw her down. Maribelle slumped to the ground, and he pushed her into that old mine shaft where she was found.

“Earl Lee reached the edge of that mine shaft and hit the Ferguson boy hard. Over and over. Then he kicked him with his heavy boots. When he stopped, he realized Ferguson was dead. Earl Lee climbed down into that mine shaft. She was gasping and clutching her throat. He held her in his arms as she died. He stayed there near an hour, then closed her eyes and covered her with a layer of dirt. He went home and told Pa what had happened. Pa and he went back and carried the body of the Ferguson boy some distance away and buried him.

“Pa told Earl Lee he mustn’t ever say anything about what he’d seen and what he’d done. If he did, he might be charged with murder. So Earl Lee didn’t. He was never the same, Pa said, after that. Moved off the ranch, drank a lot, got into fights, and had run-ins with the law. A few years later, he was dead . . . like I told you.”

Bobby Lee’s eyes had been fixed on the floor as he related this. He looked up at Angie. “That’s the story. My brother was trying to save the teacher from being attacked. He wasn’t able to, and, in his anger, he killed that Ferguson boy. Really, I think what happened killed Earl Lee too. I think he truly loved that teacher.” Bobby Lee reached out a hand toward Angie. “You can tell this story to Maribelle’s sister, if you think she would want to know. But I hope you won’t print it in your newspaper. Lucas is trying to change what people think about McGills around here, and this story wouldn’t help him with that.” He slumped back in his chair, one hand covering his eyes.

Angie leaned forward and patted the old man’s knee. “I won’t write about it, Bobby Lee. And I won’t tell anyone what you just told me. I’m not sure I’ll even tell Maribelle’s family. It might be better if they don’t think of her last minutes as being terrified and fleeing an attack.”

“Thank you,” Bobby Lee whispered. “That’s all I wanted to tell you. I’m going to rest now.”

Angie stood up and left the apartment, closing the door gently. Sam was sitting in the lobby chatting with Maude. She saw Angie coming and stood up. “Ready to go?”

Angie nodded, then said, “Hello, Maude. Great party today. Do you have plans for Christmas?”

“Sure do,” Maude said, grinning. “Me and Bobby Lee and a couple others of us are going up to the McGill ranch Christmas Eve for a dinner party. Then, on Christmas, Ed’s picking me up and I’m spending the day with him and Kate and the rest of you all.” She gave a small wave and began rolling toward the residence wing. “See you there!”

Sam laughed. “She’s a pistol, isn’t she? She was telling me stories about her ranching life—how the cattle would sometimes get into the pond on the ranch and get stuck in the mud and drown. She’d go down with a tractor and a chain and drag the carcass out and then haul it to a ravine and dump it for the vultures.”

“Yeah,” Angie said. “She’s definitely a character. Let’s go back to office and lock up. I’m feeling like I need a quiet night with a couple glasses of wine.” Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d just said. Wine? I can’t drink wine for the next six months? And no coffee? She marched out the door, resolved to read the pamphlet about pregnancy the discharge nurse had given her.

The drive to the cabin was short and uneventful, other than Wrigley bouncing around in the back seat when she spotted a group of turkeys. Angie sighed. The reality of a baby was hitting her. Where would it sleep? What would she do with it while she was working? Would it be a boy? Or a girl? She sighed again. Tonight I’m going to have a cup of chamomile tea and watch Jaws again and not think about all this till tomorrow . . . and I’ll drink a glass of milk! For the baby.

She’d just started the movie and was ensconced on the sofa under a blanket and with a dog on each side when her phone rang. It was George Potts. She let it go to voicemail and then stopped the movie to listen to his message. It made her smile: He was still in Chile visiting his boys for the holiday and was moving there permanently to be close to them. “Take care, Angie. I’ll write and let you know how things are going. And, please, do a story in your paper now and then about fathers’ rights. Remind people.”

Angie smiled pensively. George was a good man. She put the phone away and turned back to the movie.

EPILOGUE

The sun was shining brightly through the window in the bedroom. Angie stretched and looked at the clock. Eight forty-five. She lay back in bed, thinking, then reached for her phone. Her stomach in a knot, she tapped in the number. It rang three times before the call was answered.

“Hello? Angie?”

“Hey, Nick. We need to talk.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

K.L. Kovar is an economist who lives in (very) rural Wyoming, with two dogs and a patient husband. She enjoys reading mysteries, political thrillers, science fiction, and geology textbooks.

A Fall of Bones is the fourth in the Angie and Bernie Mystery Series. The series is available on Amazon. Check her Amazon page to read a sample.

You can contact her at AngieBernie22@gmail.com.